


Looking For Shooting Stars

by miss_meh



Series: Looking For Shooting Stars 'Verse [1]
Category: Star Trek (2009)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - High School, Child Abuse, Happy Ending, Implied or Off-stage Rape/Non-con, Jim!whump, M/M, Tarsus IV
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-25
Updated: 2015-10-17
Packaged: 2017-11-12 21:28:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 56,736
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/495827
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/miss_meh/pseuds/miss_meh
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Spock and his family have moved to Earth. He has accepted this. But when Jim Kirk moves in next door and Spock accidentally gets a glimpse of the younger boy's pain, Spock refuses to accept the fact that he cannot help. It may be illogical, but he will unravel the mystery that is Jim Kirk.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, so I'm branching out now that I finally finished I Am No Angel. A different pairing, a different fandom, a different genre. So, yeah, this story isn't going to be as fluffy as IANA was. Though the prologue is fairly tame since Jim hasn't even made an appearance yet, the rest of the story contains plenty of Jim whump. I'm pretty sure I threw in almost everything I could think of to make that poor boy miserable. Really though, most of it is from Spock's point of view so the whumpage is in the background and though it isn't going to be all sunshine and rainbows, it's not going to be all that dark either. And the whole story might be a little clichéd, but I like clichés. So yeah, on with the story.
> 
> The inspiration for this fic came from You Will Be Mine by Lenka. The basic plotline is all based around that song, so if you want a somewhat more detailed summary of what is going to happen in the story, listen to it.
> 
> Edit 10/17/2015: Hello, everyone! I have decided to enter this fic into a fandom novel contest, and I've done a fair bit of editing to make it the best that I can. If you guys like my story and would like to vote for it, please go to: www.inkitt.com/stories/35150.
> 
> Thank you!

Eavesdropping was illogical. Spock knew this, and yet he was still sitting outside of his parents' door, listening to them argue. The day had been filled with illogical actions though, so as he saw it, one more transgression on his part would not greatly affect the amount of trouble he was anticipating he would be in when his parents eventually came to talk to him.

"We can't substitute logic for proper parenting, Sarek," Amanda said, her voice loud but firm. "It might be _logical_ for us to raise Spock on Vulcan. But at this point, it isn't what's best for our son and it isn't what's best for us as a family. I might have been able to overlook it the first time it happened, but this time, what they did to him…" She trailed off and Spock could hear, even through the wall, the soft hitch of breath that meant she was crying.

Spock hated it when his mother cried. It had only happened a few times since he had first come into awareness, but every time it had, his control was tested. As he was already considered a substandard Vulcan, anything that caused a lapse in his control was to be avoided. As a result, it was logical to do everything possible to keep his mother happy. He reached up to touch a finger to his lip, which was still seeping green blood. It appeared that his efforts had been insufficient.

"He didn't even fight back this time, Sarek." Amanda's horrified whisper echoed in Spock's ears and he lowered his head in shame. "He told me that there was only a 1.6754 percent chance that they would kill him and he deemed fighting back to be illogical."

Spock could not understand why his words had upset her. After he had lost control three years ago, he had been advised by many of his people that violence was illogical and that his actions had violated the teachings of Surak. When he had been confronted once more earlier that day, he had taken these warnings into consideration and decided that simply taking the beating would bring less shame to his family than fighting back would. He was unable to comprehend how he had managed to upset his mother as a result of his abiding by the principles of Surak.

"We cannot stay here any longer," Amanda asserted, her voice firm once more. "They almost killed him and I won't stand for it. We need to get him off of Vulcan, Sarek. We need to take him to Earth."

Sarek's words were low when he answered, so low that they were nearly unintelligible to Spock's ears. "That is illogical," Sarek stated. "You are operating under the assumption that Spock will fare better amongst humans than he has amongst Vulcans. You fail to take into account the fact that Earth has a long history of prejudice, whereas Surak has dictated prejudice to be illogical. Furthermore…"

"Sarek," Amanda cut him off, her tone icy. Spock shuddered. Although he was ashamed to admit it, his mother was frightening when she took that tone of voice. "I love you, but don't think for one second that I won't take Spock to Earth and leave you here if I need to."

There was silence in the room for a significant portion of time. Spock pressed his ear closer to the wall, illogically holding his breath as he waited for his father to respond. "Very well. I will inform the Council of our decision."

Spock lifted its head from where he had been resting it against the wall and stood to his full height. He straightened his clothes and walked—in as calm and dignified a manner as he was able—back to his quarters. Once inside, he released a shuddering breath. It appeared that they would be going to Earth.


	2. Next Door

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "She moved in to the house next door…"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay! I hope everyone enjoys the newest installment of Looking For Shooting Stars. :D A very big thank you to my betas, Delu and Sacatuzdank. I love you guys.
> 
> The inspiration for this fic came from You Will Be Mine by Lenka. The basic plotline is all based around that song, so if you want a somewhat more detailed summary of what is going to happen in the story, listen to it. The lyrics I'm going to be quoting in each chapter are also from the same song. For the record, though the song is talking about a girl and a boy, Jim is not going to be a girl in this fic. He is merely playing the role of the female referred to in the song.
> 
> Edit 10/17/2015: I added a bit to Jim's section and cleaned up some of the wording.

“Spock!”

Up in his room, Spock tilted his head toward the sound but did not respond.  The experiment he was currently working on was extremely delicate and, as he did not wish to necessitate the recompletion of said experiment, Spock felt compelled to stay in his room to monitor it until it came to an end.  Whatever his mother needed from him would have to wait the 23.9165 minutes he required to achieve a conclusive result.

Unfortunately, Amanda did not appear to agree with Spock’s assessment of the situation.  No more than 2.6324 minutes after she had called up to him, Spock became aware of the sound of her footsteps as she climbed the stairs before knocking.

“Spock, I know you’re in the middle of conducting an experiment, but I clearly remember telling you yesterday that we would be going next door to greet the new neighbors today,” Amanda called through the door.

Spock sighed and relinquished any hope he’d had of accomplishing the tasks he had set for himself today.  “I will be down in 7.8235 minutes, Mother,” he conceded.

As he cleaned up the wasted materials from his experiment, he thought about how different his mother had been since their family had moved to Earth two years ago.  The change had been gradual and would not have been readily apparent to most, but Spock had a certain skill for perceiving patterns that were not easily discernable, a product of his scientifically inquisitive mind.  He had observed that his mother was growing progressively more social as the time their family spent on her home planet increased.  She had also become more outspoken around the house, seemingly no longer worried about forcing herself to conform to the standards of a foreign culture.  Now that the pressures of being a Vulcan ambassador’s wife had fallen away, she was doing things she had not dared to do before.  Spock could not recall a single instance from their life on Vulcan in which Amanda had ever interrupted one of his experiments.

Spock knew that even Sarek had noticed the change in Amanda, though he did not know his father’s thoughts and opinions on the matter.  Secretly, Spock was pleased by this alteration in his mother’s demeanor.  Though Amanda had always been content before, she appeared to be much happier here than she had ever been on Vulcan.  This made him think that moving to Earth had been a good thing, even if Spock was having a bit more difficulty adjusting to the relocation.

Spock had not previously spent a great amount of time among humans—aside from his mother, of course—and he was finding their overt emotionalism and almost constant need for physical contact to be not just overwhelming, but also terribly disconcerting.  While his shields were sufficient to deter any thoughts attempting to make their way into his head on the occasional instance in which one of his classmates touched him, Spock’s Vulcan upbringing still made the thought of such unnecessary contact abhorrent.  At least he had grown more accustomed to human emotions.  It had been a much-needed adjustment, as humans rarely exerted sufficient control over their emotions, and had he not altered his usual manner of dealing with others, he was quite sure he would have gone insane.

“Spock!” his mother called up to him once again.

It had not been the 7.8235 minutes he had specified, but Spock knew that should he attempt to utilize the remaining 3.5613 minutes, his mother would most likely come back up to his room and drag him downstairs.  He sighed and removed his white lab coat, hanging it on the wall hook by the door as he left the room.

He made his way down the stairs and, as he had every other time he descended this staircase, Spock paused to look at the “family photos” his mother had placed on the walls.  They had had no such items when they had lived on Vulcan, nor when they had lived in the Vulcan Embassy in San Francisco.  Since his family had moved to Riverside, Iowa, Amanda had insisted on “family photos” and “family activities” whenever Sarek was home.

Sarek was _not_ home at the moment.  Though Spock had pointed this out, Amanda had told him that greeting the new neighbors did not qualify as a family activity; it was simply the polite thing to do.

Spock had no care for what was considered “polite” in human society; however, it seemed to please his mother and so he was willing to capitulate to her will.

Amanda tutted as he entered the kitchen.  “Oh Spock, what am I going to do with you?”  Two years ago, Spock would have been entirely confused by her question, but time spent on Earth had taught him that humans often utilized rhetorical questions which, in Spock’s opinion, were quite illogical, as they served little to no purpose at all.  “Couldn’t you have at least taken a few minutes to smarten yourself up a bit?”  Spock ignored the slight quirk to her mouth that told him his mother’s human sense of humor was making an appearance.

“Mother, you are aware that, as per your own rules, I am required to clean up any experiments that I carry out within my quarters.  The best way to facilitate this process is to do so immediately.”  He looked down his nose at her in an arrogant way he knew she found amusing.  “Procrastination is a _human_ weakness.”

Amanda suppressed a chuckle and started to smooth his hair back into its usual shape.  As his father was not in the vicinity, he allowed it.  “Spock,” his mother cajoled.  “Are you sure we can’t…”

“No, Mother,” Spock replied.  They had discussed the issue at length many times over the years.  Amanda had been trying to convince him to restyle his hair into something more akin to the styles favored by teenaged human males, but Spock maintained that, as his hair had been this way for approximately the last 16.72 years, changing it now was illogical.  They had yet to reach agreement on the matter.

Amanda appeared disappointed by his continued refusal, but Spock knew that she wasn’t really upset about it.  Her belief was that it would be easier for Spock to form relationships if he didn’t look so much like an alien, and though he knew that she wanted him to connect with others his age, Spock saw no reason for things on Earth to be any different from how they had been on Vulcan.  His peers had not accepted him there, either.  At least humans lacked the strength sufficient for a physical confrontation with even a half-blooded Vulcan.

“All right, then,” Amanda sighed with one last tug to straighten his sweater.  “Let’s go meet the Kirks.”

The family that had just moved into the house next door—the Kirks—was very well-known in Riverside, even if Spock had never met them.  George Kirk was famous in all corners of the Federation as the short-lived captain of the USS Kelvin who had single-handedly saved 800 lives by sacrificing his own.  Following his death, what remained of the family (Winona, Sam, and the newly born James Tiberius Kirk) had apparently returned to Riverside, where Winona Kirk had eventually been remarried to a man named Frank.

Spock did not gossip, but his ears were much more sensitive than a human’s—something said humans tended to forget—and he had an unfortunately acute memory.  From what he had heard in town, he knew that even though she had remarried, Winona and her children still went by the surname Kirk.  He knew that Winona Kirk was often away for months, sometimes years, at a time, leaving her children in the care of their step-father.  He knew that two years ago, James Kirk (or Jim, as he apparently preferred to be called) had driven a car into the nearby quarry, and afterward, both Kirk brothers had temporarily disappeared.  Sam Kirk had yet to reappear as far as anyone knew, but Jim had returned 1.6715 months ago—looking “a bit worse for the wear”.  If hearsay were to be believed, he was back from “doing hard time”, whatever that meant, and had promptly burned down the Kirk family home.

As they knocked at the Kirks’ door, Spock holding a plate of brownies his mother had made as a “welcome gift” and Amanda smiling in anticipation of the door’s opening, he attempted to dispel the negative thoughts these rumors provoked.  Spock knew what it was to be judged based on the fictitious information spread by others.  Vulcans did not gossip and they did not lie, but they also saw no reason not to disclose any information they deemed factual.  As a result of his human ancestry, Spock had been closely monitored while they had lived on Vulcan.  Anything he did became public knowledge and would be used when Vulcans “exchanged truths”.  He remembered what it had been like to live under such scrutiny, and he would not do the Kirk family the dishonor of judging them based on hearsay.

The door opened, and Spock heard a woman’s voice call out from inside.  The person who had opened the door—a small, teenage boy who appeared to be a few years younger than Spock’s own 17.26 years—turned back to yell, “I’m getting it!”  Spock had been unable to make any observation of the boy’s facial features, but he did notice that the human was short for his estimated age and that he had unkempt blond hair.  Overall, Spock thought he was a rather average human.  Then, the boy turned and looked straight at Spock.

The first thing Spock noticed was the human’s eyes.  They were a brilliant blue in color, but while they were aesthetically pleasing, the Vulcan’s first thought was that they were too wary, too shadowed to belong to so young a human.  Then he noticed the bruises on the boy’s sunken cheeks and the way his clothing hung on his emaciated frame.

Spock glanced over at his mother and the fact that she was wearing the face customarily reserved for her role as a diplomat’s wife told him that she had observed all of this as well.

After a brief moment, Spock’s initial shock at the human’s appearance faded and, though he was curious about the ways in which a human could come to be in such a state, he found himself uninterested in the boy himself.  Surely this boy would be much like the other humans Spock had met in the years he had been on Earth.  As curious as they were at first about the hybrid Vulcan in their midst, all humans eventually realized that he was just _too_ _alien_ for them to want to spend time making friends with him.  This human would not be any different.  Meeting new people tended to make him dwell on things that were better dealt with during his meditations, and Spock found himself wishing—though he tried to tell himself that wishing was illogical—that he were back in his room, still conducting his experiment.

Spock turned his head back to the boy and realized that the human was still staring at him.  This was not a strange occurrence in and of itself, as Spock was often stared at by humans.  Most were not quite so obvious about it.

Spock angled his head slightly to one side and raised an eyebrow.  The gesture seemed to fluster the boy, since he flushed and glared at Spock.  Before the Vulcan could open his mouth to question the human, his mother said, “Hello, I am Amanda, and this is my son, Spock.” 

Amanda gave him a look, one with which he was intimately acquainted with.  Spock suppressed a sigh and inclined his head in greeting.  “As our residence is 3.6248 meters from your own,” Spock gestured with one hand toward their house, “…my mother…”  Remembering the look his mother had given him, he hastily added, “…and I wished to welcome you and your family.  Your arrival has been greatly anticipated.”  Well, Spock had not been anticipating their arrival, but he was not going to tell this boy that, especially since Amanda would probably restrict the amount of time he was allowed to spend on his experiments if he did.  Instead he said, “My mother has taken the liberty of preparing a ‘welcome gift’.”  He proffered the plate of brownies he was holding.

The boy glared at the plate warily before reaching out to snatch it from Spock’s hands.  The movement was so abrupt that Spock was unable to prevent the human’s skin from sliding over his own as the plate changed hands.  For a brief moment, Spock was inside of the boy’s head.  Pain, unlike anything he had ever encountered, burst across his mind.  A wave of images and feelings crashed over him, and he was helpless to understand their meaning.  The images moved past so swiftly that he was barely able to catch a glimpse of them, but the associated emotions left an impression.  He felt…abandoned and lonely and hurt and humiliated and sad and hungry and lost.  

And the pain very nearly overwhelmed the rest.  It was almost unbearable.

The pain was physical in some aspects, but for the most part it was emotional.  There was something very wrong in this human’s life, something that was causing him incalculable anguish.  Spock had been hurt before by his classmates.  He had been beaten and ridiculed and insulted.   But his pain had not come even close to that of the human in front of him.

Spock was brought back to himself when his mother placed a hand on his shoulder.  “Spock?” she questioned gently.  He had no doubt that Amanda had seen the boys’ hands brush and would want to make sure that her son was well.

He shook his head at her and turned his head to meet the boy’s eyes again.  The human had been watching them.  Spock did not consider himself to be accustomed to human emotions, but he could almost swear that the boy’s face reflected…longing.

“What is your name?” Spock asked.  He knew what the boy was most likely going to say.  From the evidence of the human’s appearance and age in comparison to what he had heard from the people of Riverside, Spock had deduced the boy’s probable identity.  He needed to be sure, though; Vulcans did not guess.

The boy glared at him suspiciously, but before he could answer, a woman wearing a Starfleet officer’s uniform came up behind him.  “Jim!  You should be unpacking,” she reprimanded.

“Mom—” he protested, sending her an angry look.

“Now, Jim,” she said firmly.

“Yes, Mother,” he said contemptuously before turning away from Amanda and Spock without a word and vanishing into the house. 

Spock was shocked.  He had never seen such behavior toward a parent.  Spock could not even contemplate looking at his mother harshly, let alone speaking to her in such a manner.

“Who are you again?” the woman at the door asked Amanda, drawing Spock’s attention away from where he had last seen Jim.

“We are your new neighbors, Amanda and Spock,” his mother said.

“I see.  I’m Winona Kirk.  It’s nice to meet you.”  Winona held out a hand to Amanda, who shook it firmly in return, but did not offer it to Spock.  It appeared that those in Starfleet knew of alien culture and actually respected it.  “I’m sorry, but I need to be going,” the woman said.  Spock’s brow rose.  She did not sound sorry.  “I am due for transport back to San Francisco and the starship will not wait for me if I am not there to go with her.”

Spock may not have been well-versed in human body language, but even he could tell that the woman did not want them there.  It seemed as though his mother desired to speak with Winona Kirk for longer, but her mouth closed automatically when Spock rested his fingertips lightly on her shoulder.  She gave him an assessing look before nodding and looking back at Winona.

“It was a pleasure to meet you, Winona,” Amanda said graciously.  “If there is anything you or Jim need, please do not hesitate to ask.”

Winona Kirk nodded vaguely and muttered a quick thank you before retreating into her house.  Amanda stared at the door that had essentially been shut in her face, affronted.  She shook her head and motioned for Spock to follow as she made her way back to their own house.

Once they were in the house, Amanda bustled around the kitchen, preparing tea for herself and Spock.  They did not speak until she had poured them each a cup and sat down across from him. 

“So, what did you think of Jim?” Amanda prodded. 

“Mother,” Spock said reluctantly.  “I…”

Spock was able to acknowledge that his mother knew him better than anyone, apart from himself of course.  This did not mean that he had to be pleased by that fact.  Amanda cut off his protests before he could voice them.

“Spock, I want you to keep an eye on that boy,” Amanda told him seriously.  “I don’t know why, but I have a feeling he’s going to need someone to look after him.  Just look at him!  He looks like he hasn’t eaten in weeks.  I’ve heard his step-father has a bit of a drinking problem, and with his mother leaving…  I just have a bad feeling about all of it.”

Later that day, Spock found himself alone in his room.  He had finally been able to escape his mother and her questions by claiming the need to meditate.  It was true that he did need to meditate; however, he felt a more pressing urge to just sit down and think.

Spock knew that the visit with the neighbors had not gone as his mother had planned.  Knowing his mother, Amanda had probably heard that Winona Kirk had a son approximately Spock’s age—Spock used the term “approximately” quite loosely, as he did not consider the probable three-year age gap between himself and Jim Kirk to be negligible—and had hoped that if she forced them to interact, they would become friends.  As Spock reflected on the matter, he became aware of the fact that he was for once pleased by his mother’s decision to meddle.

He was not sure whether he wanted Jim Kirk as a friend or not, but he _was_ intrigued by the human.  Though he hadn’t thought about it earlier, upon further contemplation, Spock realized that Jim should not have been able to break through his mental shields.  Unless he had been trying, that is.

Spock entertained this notion for a moment before discarding it.  The human had been unaware that the Vulcan was in his head.  Spock was certain of this. Even had he not been so sure, Spock had sensed no inherent telepathic abilities with which Jim would have been able to access his mind.  So how had Jim Kirk managed to slip past his shields with so little effort?  Especially since Spock had been maintaining his shields with the utmost care since he had moved to Earth.

Spock ruminated on the matter.  He needed to figure out what made Jim so unique.  He would start by simply observing the boy.  If this yielded no significant results, he would attempt to establish a relationship between them in the hopes of identifying other means by which he could comprehend this phenomenon.

His mother’s request had absolutely nothing to do with his need to understand Jim Kirk.  Nor did what he had seen in the boy’s mind.  This was a purely scientific endeavor.

At least, that is what he told himself, and as Spock knew very well, Vulcans never lied, even to themselves.

 

* * *

 

 

Jim wiped the blood off of his bottom lip and glared at the wall across from his bed.  At that moment, he hated everything.  He hated Frank, his alcoholic, abusive son-of-a-bitch step-father.  He hated his mother for leaving _again_ , for running back off to space when he needed her.  He hated Sam for not coming back.  He hated this fucking town and this fucking house.  Most of all, though, he hated himself, and that seemed to make him feel worse than all the rest of his hatred combined.

He rolled over—groaning because of the bruises now forming on his torso—and reached under his bed to grab the plate of brownies that weird family had brought over earlier.  Jim had added them to the stash of food he had hidden under his bed.  He knew they needed to be eaten quickly so that they wouldn’t go bad, but like hell was he going to share them with that asshole Frank.

He looked at the brownies warily for a moment.  Were they safe to eat?  

 _Fuck it,_  he thought bitterly.  He was alone, locked in his room.  The Vulcan and his mother weren't going to come over and attack him.

Jim stuffed half of a brownie into his mouth, his hand shaking.  He tried desperately to think of something else, anything besides the food he was currently chewing, and his mind latched onto the alien who had given them to him.

The Vulcan had been fucking weird.  And hot.  Weird and hot, if that combination was even possible.  What the fuck was a  _Vulcan_  doing on Earth anyway?  Didn’t being away from his home planet go against all of that precious logic or something? 

Jim scoffed.  Like anything in this universe was  _logical_.  How could anything be logical when there was so much death and hunger and grief?  The idea was laughable.

His thoughts paused as he looked down at the brownie in his hand.  It had been a few minutes and he wasn't feeling dizzy.  The world wasn't going blurry.

He sighed and took another bit of the brownie, forcibly removing the Vulcan— _Spock_ , his mind tried to whisper—from his head.  Nothing was going to change around here.  His life had been shit from the moment he’d been born, starting with the death of his father and ending with his most recent clusterfuck with… 

A tremor went through Jim’s body; he still couldn’t even think the name.

Jim shook himself, pushing the memories as far into the back of his mind as he could.  Nothing was going to change, anyways.  He needed to keep telling himself that.  Once he began to hope for change, it just got that much harder to pick himself up when real life caught up and knocked him flat again.  Nothing in this shit storm was ever going to get any better for him and he just needed to accept that.

Jim wrapped the brownies up carefully and tucked them back under his bed.  He needed to save them for his next beating.  Then, he rolled over and went to sleep, trying his very hardest not to dream.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for the short chapter, but I have never written a Star Trek story before. I am still getting used to writing Jim and Spock in character. After I figure it out, the chapters will probably grow exponentially. :P


	3. Never Been

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> …Said she'd never been in love before
> 
> Tried the best she could to hide herself away…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A note about Jim and Spock's ages: Spock is 17 and a junior in high school; Jim is 14 (almost 15) and a freshman in high school. One of my reviewers (thank you Kitty Howell!) was a bit concerned about their age gap and the fact that Jim is only 14. I would like to let all of you know that nothing is going to happen between them for a while. At this point in the story, Jim is emotionally unavailable and Spock still thinks that his observation of Jim is scientific in nature.
> 
> Oh, and I based my stardates on the ones used in STXI, not those in TOS. I have absolutely no clue how to come up with TOS stardates, so I just added 15 (Jim is turning 15) to 2233 and used the day of the year out of 365. All of the events in this chapter take place on 2248.44 which would be February 13, 2248.
> 
> Other warnings: Spock stalking Jim in a hopefully believable way, off-screen Jim/OFC sex (I really didn't want to, but it's needed to push the story along), and mentions of non-con
> 
> Edit 10/17/2015: One of my reviewers years ago reminded me that while TOS!Kirk's birthday is March 22nd, STXI!Kirk's birthday is on January 4th. I have now revised the timeline so that Jim's birthday is correct. This chapter now takes place on 2247.321 or November 17, 2247. By the way, did you guys know that 2248 is a leap year? It doesn't affect the story anymore, but it's still nice to know.

_Observation Log, Stardate: 2247.321_

_Subject: James Tiberius Kirk, preferred appellation Jim_

_Age: 14.91 years_

_Current Location: Cafeteria, Highland High School, Riverside, Iowa_

_The subject is seated at a table at a distance of approximately 6.7419 meters.  He has chosen to partake of what appears to be a meatball sub and a brownie.  His appetite, however, seems to be as absent as ever, as he has once more left his food untouched on his plate.  Overall, his tendency toward abstaining from the 2500 calorie diet necessary for a human male of his age is rapidly becoming his most perturbing and repetitive trait._

_I have also catalogued several new contusions (one to the right side of his jaw, one around his right wrist, and one over his left clavicle that may indicate a break), as well as a recently incurred laceration that extends 3.2591 centimeters onto his forehead.  Total length of the injury is unknown as it is obscured by the subject’s hair._

Spock sighed and saved his most recent entry to the James Kirk Observation Log on his PADD.  The lunch period would conclude in exactly 3 minutes, which meant that any further observations would have to wait until after his classes had concluded for the day.  Spock stood and straightened his already meticulous pile of books before picking them up and leaving the cafeteria.

2.3961 minutes after his departure, the personal communicator of every student assigned to the current lunch rotation let out a single, piercing tone, signaling the end to the time allotted to them for the ingestion of their midday meal.  A horde of students surged out of the cafeteria, clamoring and pushing each other out of the way to get to their assigned storage space in the five minutes they had before their communicators would notify them of the recommencement of classes.

Spock was already seated for his next class. 

He had perfected this particular method of physical contact avoidance on his second day in a human learning institution.  Walking through the school hallways at any given time was taxing for Spock, but the crowd that formed immediately following lunch was daunting.  At first, he had attempted to utilize his usual methods for avoiding the touch of his peers as it seemed to work well enough between classes.  Unfortunately, Spock had failed to take into account the fact that teenaged humans were not only far more sedate during morning classes—his mother had explained this phenomenon by saying that most teenagers were “night owls”—but they were also quite excitable and energetic after they had eaten lunch.  These two effects combined to make walking to class after lunch a negative experience for which Spock had no wish to repeat.  Providing he departed the cafeteria prior to the conclusion of the lunch period, he was able to avoid the substantial amount of bodily contact it necessitated. 

Spock looked over the entries he had made in his observation log while he waited for his teacher and classmates to arrive.  Jim was beginning to worry him.  It was only after many hours spent watching the human that Spock allowed himself to admit to feeling such an unnecessary emotion.  Spock had been watching Jim Kirk for three weeks now, observing him both during their shared lunch period as well as after school.  While he was still no closer to figuring out how the human had managed to get past his shields, this question was ceasing to be his most pressing concern in regards to Jim Kirk.

Jim was exhibiting a disturbing amount of behavior that could be considered abnormal for a 14-year-old human male.  The most obvious of these deviations from the norm was his lack of appetite and the injuries he seemed to incur on a daily basis.  There was no way for Spock to know what or how much Jim ate when he was not at school, but through careful observation, he had deduced that whatever he was eating, he was not eating very much of it.  Jim must be ingesting the bare minimum required to keep himself alive, and Spock was worried that if that did not change soon, the human was going to end up in a hospital.

Spock considered this thought for a moment.  Perhaps it would be best if Jim were to go to a hospital.  The human had the innate ability to collect cuts and bruises, and Spock was sure that it was not because he was clumsy or because of the altercations he had participated in over the past three weeks.  Spock had made observation concerning each of the five fights, but it had been a struggle for him to forcibly prevent himself from interfering.  He was sure that Jim would not welcome his intervention, as in each case he had been the first to become physically violent, but the more often the human fought and the more bruises he accumulated, the more difficult it was for Spock to stop himself from stepping in.

As he read over the notes he had made on his PADD, Spock realized that while a few of the contusions he had observed were obvious matches to the blows Jim had sustained during his fights, there were many more bruises in places Spock was sure his opponents had not touched him.  Jim was getting hurt in some other manner that Spock had yet to discover.  This puzzled him as, aside from his required hours at the school, Jim spent almost all of his time secluded in his bedroom, something Spock could say with absolute certainty as their bedroom windows stood directly opposite each other.

Spock’s brows drew together in consternation.  Something was amiss with his findings, and while he had a few theories as to why that might be, theories were of no value to him unless there was proof to substantiate them.

He opened a new file on his PADD and began to type out all of the things he knew or had deduced about Jim Kirk, hoping that if he wrote it down, saw all of his evidence and conclusions situated adjacent to each other, he would be able to connect the pieces and form a coherent picture of what was occurring.

Spock let out a nearly imperceptible sigh and turned off his personal PADD as his teacher strode into the classroom.  As tempted as he was to simply continue attempting to comprehend the enigma Jim Kirk represented, he knew that this class was not one in which he would be able to do so without consequences.  Most of his teachers had accepted the fact that the Vulcan education system was far superior to that of Earth and that, as a result, Spock was years ahead of the other students.  In fact, some had even indicated that he was allowed to bring alternative study materials containing more challenging coursework if he wished to. 

This particular teacher was not so accommodating, and Spock knew from experience that if he did not project an air of anything but rapt attention as the man spoke, he would find himself in front of the principal, even if his eidetic memory meant that he could repeat the entire lecture back to the man verbatim.  On the first day of class, he had made the mistake of actually doing so when the teacher had expressed irritation at Spock’s lack of note-taking and demanded to know whether he had been listening.  Spock replied that he had, indeed, been listening, and then, proceeded to “prove it” at the man’s request.  

While he knew that it was unlikely the principal would punish him should he end up in his office again, Spock did not wish to necessitate both he and the principal wasting their time if he was able to prevent it.  So instead, he pulled out the PADD that contained the textbook for his current class and listened to every word the man said.

 

* * *

 

 

_Observation Log, Stardate 2247.321_

_Subjects: James Tiberius Kirk, preferred appellation Jim, and human female, appellation unknown_

_Ages: 14.91 and approximately 16 years, respectively_

_Current Location: Locker 549, South Hallway, Highland High School, Riverside, Iowa_

_The subjects are conversing at a distance of 4.2635 meters from myself and 0.5183 meters from each other.  The unknown human female has been attempting to coerce Jim into speaking for the past 2.5986 minutes.  Jim appears to be reticent and unwilling to speak with the female._

**_*I must note that this is another abnormality in his behavior as compared to that of his peers.  It seems as though human males in this age group have a peculiar weakness for females with some age differential to their own._ **

_The female is now inclining her body toward Jim and curling one of her long tresses about the forefinger of her left hand.  Jim’s expression has not changed, but he is sweeping his hand forward in a gesture which I believe indicates that she is to follow him.  If I am not mistaken, the female has utilized a seduction technique, one which is apparently highly effective._

Spock saved the file. He was not sure where Jim and the unknown female were going as he had been unable to hear more than a few words of their conversation due in part to the distance between Spock and those he was eavesdropping on, but also because of the noise created by so many humans attempting to hasten their own departures.

The current situation did not make sense to Spock.  He certainly did not know Jim on a personal level, but he _had_ been observing the human, and while _this_ behavior did not seem to be abnormal for a human male of Jim’s age, it _was_ atypical of Jim, who appeared to abhor both touching and speaking with other humans at a level that even Spock had not obtained.  He tried to come to some sort of understanding of what was occurring, but it proved to be impossible for him.  Though he was not completely aware of what exactly he was missing, Spock did know that he was not currently in possession of all relevant data needed to comprehend Jim’s actions.  This frustrated Spock, but he recognized the fact that, as with any scientific endeavor, his observation of Jim would require patience and an abundance of time.

In spite of this, Spock could feel the negative emotions inside of him trying to get out.  Frustration was the most prominent, but there was also concern over Jim’s aberrant behavior as well as a hint of something else, something that was strengthening within him.  The emotion threatened to overwhelm the others when Spock noticed the human girl attempt to slip one hand into Jim’s, and only the fact that Jim pulled his hand away kept it from actually doing so.

Spock shook himself.  This was neither the time nor the place to be examining these sentiments; such scrutiny was better left to the privacy of his meditations.  While he knew that humans possessed no abilities that would enable them to access his current thoughts, his Vulcan principles, though no longer unduly disturbed by Spock’s acknowledgement of his emotions, still demanded solitude for these considerations. 

So, instead, Spock simply tried to ignore the unnamed emotion that was currently coursing through him and followed Jim and the unknown female out of the school. 

 

* * *

 

 

Spock was surprised when he realized that Jim was leading the girl back to his own house.  Based on what he had seen at the school, he had come to the conclusion that the girl was interested in a non-platonic relationship with Jim.  As he had also been under the impression that the human convention they referred to as “dating” was something that took place in a social setting outside of the participant’s respective domiciles, he was finding that he may need to do some reevaluating of what he thought he knew about human interaction.

After Jim had disappeared through his front door, Spock walked quickly past the Kirk house and over to his own.  He was in such a hurry to get upstairs and gain some understanding of what he had witnessed that he did not even notice that his mother was there until she put a hand on his shoulder as he was about to ascend the staircase.

“Spock,” she said, smiling at him.

“Mother,” he replied.  “You are not supposed to be home.”

“My part in the project has come to a standstill for today, so I came home.  Where are you off to in such a rush?”  Amanda chuckled, pulling him away from the stairs and toward the kitchen.  “Come.  Have some tea with me.  We haven’t talked in a while.”

Spock felt a nearly overwhelming urge to pull away from her so that he would be able to continue his observation of Jim, but as strong as that urge was, it was not enough to cause him to turn his back on his filial duties.  This was his mother, and it was true that they had not spoken beyond exchanged pleasantries in what Spock was now realizing was an inordinate amount of time.  Between her work and his growing fascination with Jim, there had been no time to do so.  Spock sighed, giving his mother a remorseful look and allowing her to press him down into one of the kitchen chairs.

As with the previous times they had spoken in the past three weeks, Amanda’s first question after she had poured the tea was, “How is Jim?”

Spock was unsure how to answer.  When she had asked him before, he had deflected, telling her that he did not have enough data to draw a conclusion on the status of Jim’s welfare.  Now, Spock was genuinely worried about Jim Kirk, and while he did not want to cause his mother unnecessary anxiety, he also had nobody else to whom he could bring these apprehensions.

“I do not believe that Jim is well, Mother.  I have been monitoring him for three weeks now, and the behavioral patterns I have observed are extremely concerning.”  A line formed between Amanda’s brows, and her lips turned down.  Before she could request clarification, Spock continued, “I have never seen him consume either food or drink in public, though I have occasionally observed him eating in his room.  He is constantly covered in bruises, and though some of them are a result of the physical altercations he has taken part in, many of them are unexplained.  Previously, he refused to speak with any of his peers, and the only occasions during which he had any physical contact were the aforementioned altercations.  And then, today…”

Spock stopped speaking abruptly, unsure whether he should tell his mother about what he had witnessed that afternoon.  A part of him did not want to, as that would necessitate his telling her about the feeling he had experienced and still could not name.  Even if he did not tell her directly, he knew that she would realize he was holding something back and attempt to draw it out of him.   Spock was fairly certain that this innate ability had something to do with the emotional bond they shared, though even that could not account for how she _always knew_.  It was simply a part of life that he had learned to live with.

“What happened today?” Amanda prompted.

Spock took a deep breath and told her, “Jim departed the school in the company of a human female.  They are currently at the Kirk residence.  Her intentions appear to be carnal in nature.”  Spock ignored the fact that his jaw grew increasingly tense as he spoke.  “I am uncertain as to why Jim would arbitrarily decide to allow her to accompany him, though, when he had previously been shunning all human contact.  Are his actions indicative of feelings toward this female?” 

An emotion took root in his chest, the same one that had threatened to overwhelm him when he had seen the unknown female attempt to take Jim’s hand.  It really was quite disconcerting how far his Vulcan control must be slipping if his illogical frustrations had managed to make themselves known through physical outlets, Spock thought as he forced his fists to unclench and lay placidly in his lap.  He sincerely hoped that for once his mother had somehow missed the tense set of his shoulders and how his mouth had hardened into a tight, flat line.  He did not wish for her to know that Jim Kirk was causing lapses in his emotional control; it would spawn a whole host of questions that Spock knew he was not willing or currently able to answer.

Amanda pursed her lips and looked at him searchingly for a moment before giving him a small, knowing smile.  Spock expected her to ask him about his feelings, but she didn’t, correctly interpreting his expression, as usual.  “Spock,” she said gently.  “Humans are not like Vulcans when it comes to relationships.  There is no way for us to sense our mental compatibility with another.  As a result, many humans, especially young humans, value physical compatibility instead.  I couldn’t begin to tell you what Jim was thinking, but it is normal for a boy his age to…”

“No, Mother,” Spock interjected, shaking his head.  Amanda looked at him in shock; he had never before interrupted her when she was speaking.  “I apologize for the interruption, but there is something _wrong_ with Jim, and I have been unable to ascertain what the exact problem is.”  He sighed, his frustration with himself coming to the surface once more.  “I could feel it on the day we met; Jim needs my help.”  Spock stared at his mother, hoping that she would be able to understand in spite of his inability to articulate everything.

Amanda looked slightly alarmed, but her expression was also one of concern and unconditional support.  “Spock, I am sure that if anyone can figure out a way to help Jim Kirk, it will be you.”  She sighed.  “I am worried about him, too.  Though _I_ haven’t been stalking him.  Oh, I’m sorry, I meant ‘scientifically and impartially observing’ him…”

Her lips twitched in amusement, and Spock mock-glared at her, though he was inwardly a bit relieved that his mother had managed to dispel some of his lingering tension with her admittedly odd sense of humor.  His mother apparently found his perfectly logical fascination with Jim Kirk to be, in her own words, “adorable and hilarious”. 

Spock was sure that there was not another being in existence who would ever agree with that assessment.

Amanda cleared her throat and continued in a more serious tone.  “I do have to ask, though.  I can understand that there is cause to worry about Jim,” she said, pinning Spock with a look and studying his expression.  “But why are you admitting to being worried?  Even though I am your mother and you know that I can read you like a book, you would usually at least _pretend_ to be the epitome of a calm and logical Vulcan.  What is it about Jim Kirk that has made you forget about the pretense?”  Spock did not even open his mouth.  He knew that he had nothing to say.  He did not know the answer to her questions.  Seeming to sense this, Amanda shook her head and gave him an affectionate smile.  “You don’t need to give me an answer, but figure out the answer for yourself.”  Still unable to articulate a reply, Spock simply nodded.

Obviously considering the conversation over, Amanda stood up and stretched.  “Ah, the tea’s gone cold.  It’s a shame neither one of us remembered to drink it while it was hot,” she said regretfully as she picked up their tea cups.  Spock stood stiffly and watched as she poured the tea into the sink before turning to leave the room, positive that this was the first time in his life he had ever finished a conversation with his mother more confused than when he started it.

 

* * *

 

Though he had only been downstairs with his mother for 25.9204 minutes, Spock knew almost immediately upon entering his room that he had missed something.  The first indication was the girl’s scream, which Spock’s sensitive ears detected as he opened the door to his room.  As he rushed through the entrance—he was illogically worried that if something had hurt the human female, Jim may have been harmed as well—he heard Jim groan, which only made Spock hasten his steps toward his bedroom window.  He had taken to keeping it open because Jim’s was _always_ open, and doing so facilitated his observations.   Even though it was approaching a temperature nearly intolerable to his Vulcan body, the current situation validated the irrational urge that had caused him to leave the window ajar. He needed to make himself available to assist in case Jim was…

Spock’s internal thoughts froze, and for 32.4682 seconds, his mind was completely clear of coherent thoughts.  It appeared as though Jim and the unknown human female had engaged in sexual congress while Spock had been conversing with his mother.  They were not currently in the act of coitus, but through Jim’s open window, Spock could see that they were both naked and still intimately connected, the girl over Jim in the slumped position to which she had fallen post-completion.

His brain seemed to restart upon realizing that the humans were _naked_ and his sense of decorum, which had fled in the wake of his disturbing and accidental voyeurism, finally returned to him.  The restoration of his senses brought along with it another overpowering wave of the emotion for which he had no name.

Ashamed for both what he had seen and what he had allowed himself to feel, Spock quickly moved himself to the side before either Jim or the female had a chance to get a glimpse of him and lowered himself to sit against the wall below the window.  Spock attempted to rationalize his need to stay, telling himself that he wanted to be certain that neither was injured before he departed the room to give them privacy.

“I love you, Jim,” Spock heard the female whisper.  His heart sank.  It appeared as though this occurrence was not merely a satiation of physical urges as he had attempted to assure himself that it must be. 

Spock knew that it was time for him to leave the humans in peace.  He had wanted to know, to understand what was happening, and now he did.  Based on the evidence presented—the matter of their intercourse and the words that had just been spoken—Spock came to the conclusion that Jim and the teenaged female were… lovers.  Spock recalled all of the observations he had made since he had met Jim.  He was bemused.  How was it possible that he had missed such a thing?

And then, Jim snorted out a hard laugh completely bereft of the humor Spock would usually expect such a noise to convey.  “Yeah, right.  Love doesn’t exist.  It’s just a fucking lie other people use as a tool to manipulate you.  In real life, the people who are supposed to be there leave and the people who are supposed to care don’t give a shit.  That’s how the world works.”

Spock felt sadness course through him at the bitterness in Jim’s tone, but the female giggled as though she thought he was joking.  “And _you_ were supposed to say it back?  C’mon, it’s not that hard,” she cajoled.

“Maybe next time you want to fuck, you should find someone who’ll let himself be bought with a few cheap words.”  Jim’s words were low and harsh.  “Now get the fuck out.”

“God, you’re such a dick!” the girl screeched.  Spock heard the bed groan as she rolled off of it and the rustle of clothing as she dressed.

Jim breathed out a soft “heh” and said, “Well that was all you wanted anyway, right?  A dick?”

The sound of a sharp _crack_ caused Spock to move quickly so that he could peer over the window ledge.  Jim was sitting on his bed, one hand pressed to his cheek as he watched the female slam the door behind her. 

Spock was shocked by the display of unwarranted violence that had taken place just 3.9243 meters away from him.  He had seen Jim participate in conflicts before, but this one had occurred in his home, and that one fact made everything different in some way.  Spock had always seen his home as a sanctuary, a respite from the judgments and criticisms of his peers, a place where he would be free from the expectation of harm.

The human female had just violated _Jim’s_ sanctuary, and Spock knew that, as much as he may desire to, there was nothing within his power that would correct the situation. 

Spock examined Jim’s expression with as much precision as he could from such a distance, and what he saw was cause for concern.  The human’s face was blank.  Spock was sure that even his father, to whom he had always looked up to as the quintessential Vulcan, could not look so completely emotionless as Jim did at that moment. 

A moment later when emotions flooded back onto the human’s features, Spock was fairly certain that he had never felt more relieved.

* * *

Jim sat on the edge of his bed and pressed a cold hand to his cheek.  God damn it, that stung.  He’d already had a fucking bruise on that cheek from the same fucking fight she was so “in love” with him over; did she really have to go and put another bruise on top of it just because she was pissed he didn’t love her back?  Who the fuck fell in love with someone they had never even had a conversation with over one shitty lay?

He still didn’t know why he had even brought her home with him in the first place.  He didn’t know shit about her—hadn’t even gotten her name, though he was sure she had said it at some point—and he didn’t want to either.  When she had first come up to him in the hallway after his final class of the day, Jim had tried to just ignore her, getting the books out of his locker and letting her jabber at him without responding. 

Unfortunately, this tactic hadn’t worked.  At all.

The girl had then started flirting with him in the most obvious manner Jim had ever seen.  When she eventually realized that Jim was not reciprocating her attempts at conversation, she had leaned toward him, as if they hadn’t already been way too fucking close to begin with.  She told him that she had seen him win that fight the other day and asked him if he agreed that winners deserved some kind of reward, throwing in an extremely unsubtle and flirtatious leer in his direction.  His first instinct had been to tell her that if she wanted to fuck someone, she should go fuck herself.

Then, he thought about it.  _Why the hell not?_ he wondered.  It wasn’t like he had any innocence left to lose and a part of him was genuinely curious about what it would be like to be with a girl.

So, he had nodded and led the girl back to the house, knowing that Frank wouldn’t be there.  His step-father was a creature of habit—that asshole didn’t have the brains to be anything else—and while he did come home drunk on most nights to beat the shit out of Jim, he usually did most of the actual drinking out in bars.

_Usually_ , Jim scoffed, brushing his fingers over the cut on his forehead.  Frank had come back to the house last night at his usual time, but he had brought a fucking bottle home with him—a bottle that had eventually been broken and then thrown at Jim in rage.  Jim had managed to duck in time to keep the bottle from going into his neck, but he hadn’t ducked far enough to keep it from grazing the top of his head, leaving a gash that was way too fucking deep to not need stitches. 

Of course, Jim hadn’t gotten stitches.  He had barely been able to drag himself into the upstairs bathroom before locking the door and passing out on the tile floor.  The only reason he had managed to pull himself off of the floor that morning was because he knew his mother read his fucking attendance reports and would yell at Frank if Jim missed school.  While he didn’t particularly care if Frank got bitched out, he knew that his step-father would be even more pissed off than he usually was and would take it out on him.

Jim scowled and slumped back onto his bed, rolling over to bury his face in the messy sheets before remembering what had just happened on them and jumping back to his feet in disgust.  Ugh, it still smelled like sex, a bizarre and disturbing combination of his own smell and the girl’s.  Jim stripped the bed, unwilling to spend the rest of the night being reminded of it. 

Just thinking about it made him feel dirty.  He had thought that sex would be different if he forced himself to want it, but though the feeling was different now that he had done it of his own free will, it was just another version of the same self-hatred he had felt before.  It was the same feeling that made his mind scream at him that he deserved everything that had happened because he was too dirty to ever be clean, too undesirable to ever be wanted for more than his body, and in so many pieces that he would never be whole again.

Jim shuddered.  He was burning those sheets as soon as he had a chance. 

He quickly remade the bed with one of several spare sheet sets he had shoved in his closet when they moved in.  Even after fourteen years as her son, he still had no fucking clue why his mom could make sure he had a bazillion sets of sheets that fit his bed, but couldn’t find a fucking caretaker that would buy him new clothes when he had a growth spurt or actually keep food in the house (the moldy bread his mother had bought before she left didn’t count) or, you know, not hit him in a fit of drunken rage. Winona had never believed Jim or Sam when they tried to tell her what Frank was doing; she knew they had never liked him and obviously didn’t put it past them to make things up in an attempt to get rid of him.  Jim knew that his mother was aware of Frank’s drinking; he had heard them arguing about it.  To Jim, it seemed as though she cared more about having someone to dump her kids on than she did about whether that someone was going to treat them well while she was gone.

Jim allowed himself a moment of self-pity before shaking his head.  There was no use dwelling on things he couldn’t change. 

He threw himself back down on the (clean) bed and stared at the ceiling.  Instead of thinking about things he couldn’t change, he _should_ be thinking about things he could.  That Vulcan, Spock, had been following him again that afternoon.  It had started a while ago.  He hadn’t been sure at first, but when he had noticed that the Vulcan made every single fucking stop Jim did on the way home from school a few days ago, he had been certain.  The Vulcan was _stalking_ him.  It wasn’t like the guy was good at blending in, either.  In fact, it didn’t even look like Spock was _trying_ to be inconspicuous. 

Jim still didn’t know what he was going to do about that.  He should just go up to Spock and tell him to stop stalking him, but a very big part of Jim wanted to know _why_ the guy was watching him.  It wasn’t like his life was so fascinating or he was so interesting as a person that it would warrant this level of intense scrutiny.

Maybe it was some kind of Vulcan mating ritual or something.  Jim actually considered that thought for a moment—after all, who knew what kind of freaky shit aliens got up to when they were looking for a mate—but then snorted.  Even if he was at the age where that kind of thing would be allowed, he wouldn’t be a good mate for anyone, especially not an oh-so-perfect and ever-fucking-logical Vulcan.

His thoughts were interrupted as his stomach growled loudly.  Jim absently rubbed a hand over his abdomen as he realized that he hadn’t eaten since last night before Frank got home, and then, he had ended up throwing up most of what he _had_ eaten after the man hit him with that bottle.  He wasn’t surprised that he hadn’t known he was hungry before then; he was still as numb to hunger pains now as he had been when he had first trained himself to ignore them the previous year.

Jim sighed as he rolled over to reach under the bed to grab a can—huh, looks like he was having peaches tonight—from his food stores.  He was going to need to be a bit more careful about his food intake.  The last year or so had fucked him up, sure, but the last thing he needed was to be trapped in the fucking hospital again because he had forgotten to eat and ended up passing out. 

Jim trembled slightly.  God, that would be horrible.  He still couldn’t stand to keep his windows shut, even in the middle of fucking November, because it made him feel like the walls were closing in on him.  Being stuck in a hospital room, even if it wasn’t the one that had originally caused his fear, would drive him fucking insane.  No, he really needed to do what he could to keep that from happening, which meant he needed to eat more often.

The problem was that Jim couldn’t eat outside of his room.  He had tried once, but it was impossible for him.  Sure, he knew somewhere in the back of his head that the food in the fucking high school cafeteria was _probably_ safe, but Jim had thought the same thing about the food _he_ had offered him and just look where that had gotten him.  Damaged, broken, bloody, and left for dead.

There were rules after that.  He didn’t eat unless it was safe, unless he was huddled among those he trusted, hidden away in their little shelter, so that they could make sure that if there _were_ drugs in any of the food, well, at least there was someone to stand guard over his helpless body until the effects wore off. 

There wasn’t anybody to save him now, but that was okay.  Frank was bad, but Jim had had worse.  As long as the bruises were only skin deep, he would live through it and come out the other side intact.  Frank wasn’t like the other man, the one with the thinning brown hair and the full beard and the laughing eyes who said, “Here, take it.  I’m sure you’re hungry,” but then Jim ate it and the bottom dropped out of his stomach and his whole body went limp and god, _the pain_ …

Jim curled in on himself.  God, he just needed to put the whole fucking thing behind him.  The past was in the past, and the man was dead now; Jim had seen it himself. 

For some reason, that thought made Jim attempt to clench his arms even tighter around himself in misery.  Even if he _was_ dead, it didn’t matter because Jim was already damaged goods.

How was he supposed to just put it all behind him and move on when he was still broken inside?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, I hope you guys liked it. If you did, please review. It makes me feel all warm and fuzzy inside and helps me write faster. :P Thanks for reading!


	4. Calling Out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> …But every time she turned the lights down low
> 
> He thought he heard a voice calling out so slow
> 
> Come and take me away from all this pain…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was very excited when I finished this chapter. I hope you guys enjoy it. :)
> 
> A few notes about this chapter that may make it easier to understand: 1) An esper rating is an estimation of the ability to develop psionic abilities. It was referenced in the TOS episode, "Where No Man Has Gone Before". 2) Dif-tor heh smusma means 'Live long and prosper' and Sochya eh dif means 'Peace and a long life'. The ta'al is the Vulcan salute. T'hy'la means 'friend/brother/lover'. I like to think of it as Vulcan soulmates.
> 
> A thank you to my beta, Delu. XD

Spock attempted to surreptitiously follow Jim as the human departed the school grounds.  While he would have never previously attempted to classify himself as “sneaky”, he was beginning to realize that certain perceptions of oneself had the ability to change when given sufficient motivation.  It appeared that Jim Kirk was, as the humans would say, “on to him”.  Though the other teenager had not approached him directly, Spock had noticed that Jim had started glaring at him whenever he was in the vicinity.  He had begun to utilize evasive maneuvers in an attempt to thwart Spock whenever possible, and in turn, the Vulcan was finding it necessary to use increasingly clandestine methods of observation to avoid Jim’s detection.  It had not taken him a great amount of time to realize that the human would cease his futile attempts to flee if he were unaware of Spock’s presence.

Jim had returned to his standard post-school routine immediately following the single abnormality 1.7143 weeks previously.  The unknown female with whom Jim had copulated had not attempted to reestablish contact with Jim after their one afternoon together, and though Spock would not say that this made him _happy_ , he would admit to being… gratified and perhaps somewhat relieved.  The emotion for which he had no name returned every time he remembered seeing and hearing Jim with the girl, but it had abated somewhat as the days passed without interaction between them.

Spock halted his efforts to move in a covert manner when he noticed that Jim had been stopped by four rather well-muscled teenage boys who were most likely Spock’s age, if not older.  Even with the enhanced sound perception permitted by his Vulcan ears, Spock was not close enough to hear what they were saying to Jim.  He was attempting to locate a suitable place of concealment at a proximal distance when whatever argument the humans were having rapidly deteriorated into violence.

For once, Jim was not the first to strike, and this combined with the differential in the number of combatants to quickly put him at a disadvantage.  He was still exerting a great amount of effort to defend himself, but it did not appear as though his defense was going to be sufficient in this instance.  Still, aware of the fact that Jim was already wary of him for some unfathomable human reason, Spock did not move to interfere.  As he had on the previous occasions, he instead endeavored to remain where he was and let Jim fight his own battles.

Approximately 6.1082 minutes after the fight’s conception, Spock abandoned this plan.

In the struggle, one of human assailants had managed to pin Jim’s arms behind his back while another methodically turned Jim’s face into a bloody mess.  When Spock saw that Jim’s eyes were closed and he had stopped even attempting to resist their hold on his arms, Spock knew that he needed to intervene.

He stepped up behind the human male who was punching Jim.  The boy did not realize that he was there at first, but one of his companions soon rectified this oversight.  The human turned to face Spock, his face twisted in an expression of anger, if Spock was not mistaken.

“What do you want, _Vulcan_?  This is none of your business,” he snarled.

Spock folded his hands at his back and straightened his already impeccable posture.  He looked down his nose at them in a way that was usually reserved for those occasions in which he was teasing his mother; for once, he was perfectly serious in his part as the imperious and arrogant Vulcan.

“You are mistaken,” Spock informed them.  “The human you have incapacitated is my neighbor, and it is my duty to help my neighbors when they have need.  You will either release Jim, or I will be required to force your compliance.”

Spock heard one of the other teenagers mutter, “Let’s get outta here.  It’s a fucking Vulcan.”  However, the boy in front of him did not heed this warning.  He took a step toward Spock and hissed, “This little prick doesn’t know when to keep his fucking mouth shut.  He deserves what he gets.  Stay the fuck out of it.”  He attempted to emphasize his point by putting a hand on Spock’s shoulder and shoving.  Spock allowed himself to be moved slightly by the human’s insignificant strength.

Then, he straightened once more and replied, “Very well.  If your decision is one of non-compliance, then I am obliged to retrieve Jim, regardless of the consequences to you or your companions.”  Considering the humans fairly warned, Spock reached out his own hand and performed the Vulcan nerve pinch.  The human did not even have a chance to cry out before he was slumped unconscious at Spock’s feet.

Spock looked over at the others and raised an eyebrow.  Before Spock could blink, they had fled, abandoning both Jim and their friend on the sidewalk.  The Vulcan suppressed the urge to snort.  If this was friendship, then he was gratified that he had never taken part in such a thing.

After the other humans had disappeared from his sight, Spock moved to kneel beside Jim.  The boy had fallen in a most uncomfortable looking position.  He was on his back, his head turned away from Spock, with both of his legs curled up underneath him as though he had been kneeling and fallen backward and one of his arms was pinned between his body and the ground.  Spock quickly moved to rearrange Jim’s limbs into a more comfortable position before realizing that if Jim was allowing him to touch him, the human must be unconscious. 

Though he would never have admitted it to anyone else, Spock started panicking.  What did one do with an unconscious human, especially an unconscious Jim Kirk, who would most likely be extremely upset upon waking?

Spock shook himself out of his panicked thoughts.  Jim needed him right now.  Spock could worry about the rest later as there was no logic in thinking about something that may not come to pass.  He reached out and put one hand on the human’s face to turn it toward him so that he could inspect the damage that had been inflicted upon it.

He did not expect for Jim’s mind to pull him in as it did.

The pull was much stronger than it had been when their hands had merely brushed and not lingered, and in this case, Spock’s hand was nearly covering Jim’s meld points, making the connection just that much stronger.  Spock most likely could have stopped it if he wanted to, but he found that his subconscious self did not _really_ want to, and so, though his conscience told him that to continue was illogical and immoral, it was impossible for Spock to do otherwise.  Jim’s mind was reaching out to him, and Spock could not prevent his own from reaching back. 

A moment later, Spock was surrounded by the same emotions he had felt on the one previous time he had encountered Jim’s mind.  There was pain and sadness and anger and a never-abating hunger for… almost anything that a human could possibly conceive of to hunger _for_.  Jim was hungry in the usual sense of the word, of course, but it had seemingly been pushed so far back in the human’s mind that he barely felt the pain associated with it anymore. 

Jim’s other cravings were much closer to the surface and the strength of them nearly took Spock’s breath away.  This human was starved for love, touch, safety, and a whole host of other things that Spock was unable to completely comprehend.  He delved deeper into Jim, further into the human’s emotions, careful not to touch his thoughts or his memories, knowing that he was already committing a breach of every moral code that had been instilled in him since birth.  To trespass further would be… illogical.

But he could not stop; he did not wish to withdraw from Jim’s mind just yet.  He wanted to go just a small bit further.  He felt as though there were something there at the end that he was reaching toward, but Spock was as yet unaware as to what that “something” was.  All he knew was that it was there, and he could feel it, and he wanted it.

And then, Spock was there, at the center of Jim’s mind, and he was reaching out.

Before his mental “fingertips” could do more than brush against the core of Jim’s mind—Spock shuddered at the feeling this mental touch evoked—he was jerked out of their pseudo-meld by the sound of a hovercar horn blaring one street over.  Spock felt short of breath, a sensation that he had not experienced since coming to Earth, and he simply knelt in position for a moment, panting as he stared at Jim. 

Though he was a telepathic being, Spock had no understanding of what had just happened to him.  Human minds were not supposed to possess the ability to do the things that Jim’s had just accomplished.  It was just one more way in which Jim was proving to be fascinating.

Spock stood and glanced furtively from side to side to make sure that no one was watching before he scooped Jim up into his arms.  Though Spock had little care and even less patience for gossip, it would not do for someone to see them and spread rumors as to why the half-Vulcan would be carrying the Kirk boy.  Riverside was a small town and its inhabitants seemingly lacked alternative forms of entertainment that did not involve the spread of half-truths amongst themselves.

He was still unsure as to what he should do with the unconscious human.  Jim’s presence lingered in his mind, in spite of the fact that Spock was no longer touching the boy’s skin, and the Vulcan could feel him stirring.  This remaining sense of Jim was not unfamiliar to Spock.  It was common for him to carry some sort of impression of the other involved party immediately following a meld, and though Spock had never melded with anyone outside of his immediate family, he was sure that this effect was universal to all mental contact, whether said contact was an actual mind meld or not.

A groan came from the human in his arms.  Spock knew that Jim would be waking up soon, and if he was going to take him somewhere for treatment, he had best do it while the human was still asleep.  Not knowing where else he could possibly take Jim, Spock tried to make the boy more comfortable in his arms before hurrying toward his house where hopefully his mother would have a better idea of how to care for an injured human.

 

* * *

 

 

Amanda was unsurprisingly shocked and horrified by the state Jim was in when Spock brought him into the kitchen.  He considered himself extremely lucky that his mother had the day off and was actually home.  He did not know what he would have done had she still been working on her current project at the Riverside Shipyard.  Spock would have been able to walk to the Shipyard carrying Jim if necessary, but it was a far longer journey than the one to the house and Jim would most likely have woken up before they were a quarter of the way there.

His mother grabbed the first aid kit, and then questioned him incessantly as he carried Jim into the living room to lay him on the couch.  Spock tried to answer her questions honestly without admitting that he had inadvertently entered Jim’s mind.  That was a transgression that he was not going to willingly confess to anyone.

Amanda immediately started tending to Jim’s injuries in silence as soon as Spock put him down.  She spoke infrequently as she worked, occasionally telling Spock to retrieve more water or a clean washcloth when Jim’s blood had so thoroughly ruined the first one that it was no longer doing its duty, but otherwise it was quiet.  Spock was grateful for this.  He had much to think about—for once, possibly more than he could handle—and considering how the last substantial talk he had had with his mother had given him more questions than answers, he was gratified by the fact that she understood him sufficiently well to know when he had had enough.

He felt it necessary to break the silence when he felt Jim’s mind stirring again.  “Mother, I believe Jim will awaken in 1.0320 minutes, and he will most likely be agitated.  If he is in need of further care, it would be logical for you to administer said care swiftly, as I anticipate Jim will not allow you to do so when he is once again fully conscious.”

Amanda’s fingers quickened, smoothing a bandage to the cut bisecting Jim’s left eyebrow before applying another to the side of his jaw.  Jim awoke as Amanda was cleaning the remainder of the human’s blood from around the dressings.  As Spock had predicted, he did not react well.

“What the fuck?” Jim rasped angrily, struggling to sit up.  His eyes were wild, but he focused on Amanda, as she tried to comfort him.  Then, his gaze settled on Spock, and he began shouting.  “Where the fuck have you taken me, you creepy Vulcan stalker?  God damn it!  It’s not enough that you’ve been fucking following me?  You gotta kidnap me, too?”  Spock was alarmed to note that Jim’s eyes had widened even further in panic, and both his breathing and heart rate had accelerated.  “What the fuck do you want from me, you bastard?”

Spock tilted his head, contemplating Jim’s words and attempting to formulate a response that would not incite the human to violence.  Before he could speak, his mother interrupted, “Now, Jim, Spock didn’t kidnap you.  If you stop and think for a minute, you’ll remember what happened.”

Spock was momentarily taken aback by his mother’s lack of reprimand for Jim’s use of profanity.  Amanda was a linguist and, as such, took language very seriously.  Spock had never attempted to utilize coarse language, and indeed, one of the main reasons he did not do so was as a result of his mother’s extreme dislike for it.  She had always told him that if one could not find more appropriate words in the half million or so that comprised Federation Standard, one was not fit to be speaking until after taking the opportunity to avail oneself of a dictionary.

Then, he realized that it would have been completely illogical for his mother to give Jim a lecture on profanity when the human was already afraid of them.  To do so would have only frightened Jim more, and Spock was certain that Amanda knew this.  He nodded his approval as he looked at Jim once more and saw that the fear had disappeared from his face.  It had been replaced by confusion, but in Spock’s opinion, this was far more agreeable than the pure panic that had been there previously.

“I was in a fight,” Jim said slowly.  He reached up and put one hand to his head, obviously surprised when his fingers came away free of blood.  He pressed at the bandages with his fingertips for a moment before Amanda carefully pulled his hand away.  Jim froze in alarm, but relaxed again when she immediately released him, and he realized the touch had not been intended to be threatening.  He huffed out a breath and shook his head.  “Fuck.  I thought those assholes were going to kill me.”

Spock spoke when it appeared as though Jim were going to start hyperventilating at the thought.  “I do not believe that they were attempting to terminate your existence,” he disagreed.  “However, the physical damage you would have endured would most likely have been much more severe had I not intervened.  You must exercise caution, Jim.  I may not be in the vicinity on the next such occasion.” 

Both Jim and his mother gave him disbelieving looks when they heard his last statement, but Spock did not notice as he was currently experiencing a very real sense of terror at the thought of Jim being without protection.  The human’s sense of self-preservation appeared to be almost non-existent, and Spock was sure that harm would befall Jim if he were not around to “keep an eye on him”, to quote the Terran phrase.

“Whatever,” Jim said, rolling his eyes.  “It’s been nice, but I gotta…”  Jim’s head snapped up, and Spock saw that the panic was back in his eyes.  “Fuck, what time is it?  How long was I out?”  He scrambled to his feet quickly, gasping as his eyes finally found the clock on the mantel.  All of the blood drained from Jim’s face.  “Oh shit, it’s almost six.  Fuck!  I have to get home.”

Spock did not have any desire to let Jim leave, but he was sure that, in this instance, he did not have any other option.  He turned, indicating with one hand that Jim was to follow, and directed the human toward the front door.  They had not taken more than two steps, however, when Amanda’s voice called out, “Spock, Jim, wait.” 

Both teenagers halted and moved to look at her as she hurried into the kitchen before returning with a plate of sugar cookies.  Amanda handed them to Jim with a smile on her face.  To anyone else, it would appear to be a genuine smile, but Spock knew better.  His mother was worried.  “Take them.  They were supposed to be for Spock, but he’s never been a big fan of sugar cookies.” 

Spock stared at her.  Amanda knew that her sugar cookies were his favorite.  He had never heard his mother lie before, and was surprised to find that he agreed with her reasons for doing so.  Jim _needed_ to eat, and if this was the only method by which they could help him, then Spock would do whatever was necessary.  

Jim looked as though he were going to refuse, so she continued, her voice firm, “Take them, Jim.  I will make more cookies for Spock if he wants them.”

Jim glared at them suspiciously for a moment before he finally grunted his thanks and clutched the plate closer to his body before storming toward the front of the house.  Spock made no attempt to guide or follow him this time, but heard the door shut with an audible crash as Jim slammed it behind him.

He and his mother simply stood there staring after Jim for a moment before turning to look at each other.  Amanda’s expression was a mixture of worry and sadness, and Spock could not help but emulate these emotions.  He murmured a polite apology to his mother as he turned away from her to retreat to his room.  A great deal of meditation and thought would be necessary for him to process and reconcile the events of the day, most especially those pertaining to his prolonged contact with Jim’s mind.

But when Spock had finally entered his room and settled himself in the area he had designated for meditation, instead of calming his thoughts as he had intended, he found himself dwelling on Jim’s face and the terrified expression that had made an appearance several times that afternoon. 

It would be several hours before he was able to rid himself of the image and successfully meditate.

 

* * *

 

 

Jim hurried into his bedroom and closed the door before slumping back against it, clutching the plate of cookies to his chest.  Thank god, he’d made it home before Frank.  Fuck, he could just imagine what that bastard would have done to him if Jim had managed to run into him on his way up to his room. 

Jim had rules when it came to Frank due to an unspoken and fairly one-sided understanding between them.  Frank didn’t ever enter his room, and in return, Jim would take a beating whenever the bastard yelled for him.  Jim was accepting of this arrangement for one reason and one reason only.  His room was the only place in which he was able to let his guard down.  Being constantly on edge was a fucking pain in the ass and it took a lot out of him, and while he knew that his room was not completely insulated from the dangers of the outside world, it was the closest thing he had.  So, as long as Frank didn’t violate that sanctuary, Jim was fine with taking whatever his step-father could dish out.  Shit, he’d been through worse than this on some of his best days on Tarsus.

The problem with their current system was that it didn’t account for anything outside of the usual beatings.  For instance, should he get home late because he’d been abducted by a fucking Vulcan and his mother, Jim knew that Frank wouldn’t give a shit.  That bastard hit him without warning and usually without cause whenever he and Jim happened to cross paths while they were in the house, and there wasn’t a damn thing Jim could do about it. 

As long as Jim stayed out of his way, Frank wouldn’t have extra reasons to hit him, so that is what he tried to do.  Getting out of school at three-thirty usually meant that Jim had plenty of time to get home before Frank did and hole himself up in his room until his step-father called him down.  When he had been at Spock’s house earlier, he had remembered what usually happened when Frank happened to get home early or Jim ended up getting home late and, as much as he hated himself for admitting it, just the thought of running into Frank right after the beating he had just taken scared the shit out of him.

Jim forced himself to stop thinking about the terror.  Allowing it to consume him was not an option, so he turned his thoughts to other, (barely) more pleasant thoughts.  Like the crazy Vulcan who obviously thought he was a complete idiot.

What the fuck had happened today?  He’d been attacked by a group of total dickwads, but that wasn’t really all that unusual.  What freaked him out was the fact that “Super Stalker” Spock had apparently saved his ass and then dragged him back home so mommy could patch him up.  Jim didn’t have a fucking clue how he was supposed to feel about this.  On the one hand, the guy had been stalking him.  That in and of itself was a major red flag telling Jim that there was something seriously wrong with the Vulcan.  Then again, it had also been way too fucking long since he had had someone to watch his back and protect him, and Jim couldn’t deny that it felt… good.

Jim looked down at the plate of cookies in his hand, finally remembering that he was holding them.  His stomach rumbled hungrily, and he sighed.  He might as well eat one.  After all, the last batch of food he’d gotten from the Vulcan’s mother hadn’t been poisoned, and these had been made for her son, which made nefarious intentions even more unlikely. 

He unwrapped the plate as he sat down on his bed.  Huh, sugar cookies.  Not his favorite type—he preferred the traditional chocolate chip—but at least they weren’t peanut butter or one of the many other things to which he was allergic.  He tentatively bit into one of the cookies and chewed, waiting for something to happen.

When nothing happened, he finished off the cookie, allowing himself to actually taste and savor it.  Well, one thing was certain.  That woman knew what she was doing; the cookies were delicious.

A sudden wave of jealousy washed over him.  Vulcans didn’t do emotions, right?  Why did Spock get to have such a great mom when he probably didn’t give a shit about her or her cookies, while Jim got stuck with Frank and (sometimes) Winona?  It wasn’t fucking fair.

As soon as his “poor me” routine started, Jim knew that he was being stupid and childish, neither of which were of any value when it came to survival.  There was no use thinking about the ‘what if’s and ‘what could be’s because his life was never going to get better, and if it did, he knew that disaster would be right around the corner. 

After all, there wasn’t a clearer example than what had happened on Tarsus IV.  Jim had been happy—fucking _happy_ —for the first time in his life, and there’d been a fucking plague.  It was just the way life was for him; he wasn’t meant to be happy.

Wrapping the plate back up as tight as he could, he slid it under his bed.  Jim wanted to make those cookies last as long as possible.  Not only were they fucking delicious, but when he ate them he almost felt… loved.  It was as if that woman, Amanda, had made them just for him.  He knew that it was a fantasy and would never happen, but it was a nice thought.

He yawned as he stretched out on his bed.  Shit, was he tired.  He didn’t want to fall asleep—he knew that his turbulent thoughts would breed nightmares—but he couldn’t seem to keep his eyes from closing.  _Oh well,_ he thought.  _It isn’t like I’m unused to nightmares._

And with that highly encouraging thought, he drifted off to sleep.

 

* * *

 

Some time later, in the house next door, Spock sat upright in his bed, the sound of Jim’s screams echoing in his head.

 

* * *

 

Spock was tired.  For the past eight days, he had been waking up to the sound of Jim screaming.  Every night, he would check to make sure that Jim was not actually in trouble, and every night, he would see Jim curled up in his bed asleep.  It did not make any sense to Spock.  Jim was obviously dreaming and obviously in pain—the thought of which caused a great deal of unpleasant feelings in Spock—but Spock should not be able to hear the human in his head when they were not touching or, more realistically, at all considering the amount of effort he had been expending to maintain his shields.

Spock believed it to be quite fortuitous that his father was going to be returning that day.  Sarek was much more experienced when it came to such things, and Spock was in rather desperate need of guidance.

It had taken extensive deliberation and lack of sleep before he had come to the conclusion that his father was the only one who could help him, and the only way he could do so was if Spock revealed everything that had occurred between he and Jim.  He had previously told himself that he would never tell anyone of the many cultural taboos he had broken by going into Jim’s mind uninvited, but now, he found himself with no other option.  For the sake of his sanity and Jim’s well-being, Spock needed to know what was going on.

Which is how he found himself standing in his father’s home office, preparing himself to explain what had happened and what had occurred as a result.

Sarek looked up from his work expectantly when his son entered the office, but Spock was hesitant to speak.  What if his father was disappointed or ashamed of him?  He knew that Sarek would never tell him if he felt such a thing, of course, but Spock did not wish for his father to think poorly of him.

“Speak your mind, Spock,” Sarek commanded as he did every time something was bothering his son.

Spock inhaled deeply and forced himself to explain the circumstances to his father.  When he had finished describing everything that had happened in great detail, the teenager suppressed the urge to fidget as his father considered the current situation.  Sarek did not give any visible reaction, as Spock had expected, and it was making him… uneasy. 

“Spock, I believe there to be only two means by which you would be able to access this human’s mind with such ease.  The boy may have an abnormally high esper rating, but as you pointed out, not only was he unaware that you had entered his mind, he was also unable to gain access to your mind.  Based on this inability, I consider this possibility to be unlikely.”  Spock nodded.  He had already come to this conclusion himself.  “The second option is much more problematic.  The only other possibility I have been able to conceive is the formation of a spontaneous telepathic or empathic link.  These can form under duress—when two parties share a life or death situation—but they are most characteristic of the _t’hy’la_ bond.”

Spock stared at his father.  _T’hy’la._   It was a bond so rare it was practically unheard of and so cherished that many Vulcans would forsake logic to possess it.  Was it possible that he and Jim…?

“Thank you, Father,” Spock said formally.  Then, he paused.  He did not know what he should say to his father on the subject or even what he himself should think about it.  _T’hy’la, t’hy’la._   His mind kept repeating it.  How was it even possible?  “I require meditation to gain further insight on the subject.” 

Mechanically, he lifted one hand in the _ta’al_ and murmured, “ _Dif-tor heh smusma,_ ” before departing, not staying long enough to hear the replied, “ _Sochya eh dif_.”

 _What is one supposed to do in such a situation?_ Spock thought as he hurried back to his room.  He had been under the impression that his observation of the human had been scientific, impartial, and most especially, not at all related to any desire he may have for a more personal association with Jim.  He was only now realizing that his need to know where Jim was at any given moment was resultant of something more, something deeper.  _T’hy’la._

Spock’s thoughts were racing in spite of his attempts to slow them down.  He thought of what his father had said.  The mental link was characteristic of a _t’hy’la_ bond, but it was not necessarily indicative of one.  Jim could just have a high esper rating, or perhaps the link had formed as a result of Spock’s mind deceiving itself into believing that the situation had been life or death.  It would be illogical to become excited as a result of something that may not even exist.

The problem was that he _had_ been excited by the prospect of being _t’hy’la_ with Jim.  The human seemed to be utterly and endlessly fascinating to him, and Spock was sure that Jim’s mind would hold the same amount of wonder.  Perhaps, even if they were not _t’hy’la_ , he could…

Spock sighed as he settled into position for meditation.  He had much to think about.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you guys liked it. If you did, please review.
> 
> I drew fanart for this chapter. If anyone wants to see it, you can find it here: http://miss-meh.deviantart.com/gallery/34945937#/d4nid35
> 
> Edit 10/17/2015: I have now inserted the artwork directly into the story.


	5. Looking

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> …And he said,
> 
> I see you sitting there at the window sill
> 
> Looking for shooting stars…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay! I finished it! I know it's been forever guys, but some serious shit has happened in the past month and I just haven't been able to write as much as I usually can. My twenty-first birthday (I'm finally legal!) was last weekend, so I spent Saturday night drunk and Sunday completely hungover which kinda put a damper on my ability to write unfortunately.
> 
> Anyway, I hope everyone enjoys it. XD

Spock had been thinking of Jim with ever-increasing frequency in the 4.2635 days that had elapsed since his conversation with his father.  He had meditated with single-minded focus in an attempt to determine how he felt about the human, but Spock was unused to utilizing meditation as a means to the discovery of emotion.  For a great portion of his existence, meditation had been the default method he was forced to avail himself of on those occasions in which he was emotionally compromised or dangerously close to being in such a state.  Spending so much time using it to suppress his emotions meant that it was currently not the method most conducive to facilitating his emotional awareness.

As it was, the most Spock had been able to ascertain was that he was no longer wholly impartial when it came to Jim Kirk, and as a result, he had concluded that the best course of action would be to cease his observation of said human until such a time when he had clearly defined his motivations.

This was, as humans said, “easier said than done”, however.  Spock found that the overwhelming urge to be near Jim, to know what he was doing and who he was doing it with did not abate.  In fact, if Spock was not mistaken, it was growing stronger with each day that he forcibly prolonged his self-imposed absence.

What bothered him the most though was the fact that even after hours of meditation he still had no idea how to rectify this matter, which left him with no clear direction in which to proceed.  Spock seemed to be “at a standstill”, and it was not a position in which he enjoyed being.

Spock sat in his room, once again attempting to meditate.  As usual, he was quite successful at reaching his primary meditative state, but as before, when he tried to go deeper, to put his feelings for Jim in order, to give them a name, Spock found himself unable to do so.

Nor could he find a _reason_ for this inability.  It had never been necessary for Spock to engage in such a struggle with his own mind.  Indeed, Spock’s mind was considered to be extremely well-organized for his age bracket among Vulcans.  To be unable to do something so simple as categorize and compartmentalize his feelings was… frustrating, taxing, exasperating, and an entire amalgam of other illogically human words that conveyed similar sentiments.

Trying to access the mental link between his mind and Jim’s proved to be equally unsuccessful.  Spock had originally intended to abstain from even touching the fragile tie binding him to Jim as doing so would constitute yet another breach of whatever trust Jim may someday have for him; unfortunately, he had underestimated just how strong the temptation would be to reaffirm the link’s existence and had inevitably ended up trying to do so in spite of himself.

Spock had been shocked (and admittedly somewhat horrified) when he realized that he was completely unable to consciously access their fledgling bond.  Subsequent to this discovery, he had spent an inordinate amount of time during his meditations attempting to reach Jim’s mind.  When his efforts continued to fail, he had been forced to conclude that the human must be shielding his mind in some way.  He would need to do more experimentation to be sure, but were he forced to speculate on the matter, Spock would have said that Jim’s conscious mind must be the one blocking him. 

Spock’s thoughts drew strange parallels to the Terran game “rock, paper, scissors”.  While he and Jim were in physical contact, Spock’s touch telepathy was stronger than Jim’s mental shields.  When he and the human were not touching, Jim’s shields were sufficient to keep Spock from entering his mind.  However, when Jim was asleep or unconscious, even if they were not physically connected to one another, the bond overpowered both of them and allowed Spock access to Jim.

Spock paused momentarily in his thoughts.  Perhaps the analogy was not quite as accurate as he had thought. 

Nevertheless, Jim must be shielding himself in some way.  To his surprise, Spock was more saddened than frustrated by this conclusion; the only reason a psi-null mind would be able to erect such shields without training was if something had occurred that was so horrifying that it felt an overwhelming need for the added protection.  Spock had already deduced that something was horribly wrong in Jim’s life, but the thought of his _t’hy’la_ going through any of the scenarios he had postulated was sufficient to cause rage and grief to burn inside of him.

_T’hy’la t’nash-veh.  Jim t’nash-veh._   His _t’hy’la_.  His Jim.  If Spock were to ever admit to a preference for anything, it would be for these words in whichever language he chose to speak them.  They asserted his possession; they asserted his… claim.

The thought caused Spock to realize something that had not previously occurred to him.  It was possible that he had been going about this the wrong way.  Perhaps he needed to treat the current situation in the same manner he would an experiment.  The time in which he had been avoiding Jim could be considered a control, and now it was time for Spock to reintroduce the variable, his _t’hy’la_.  Taking into account his inability to center his thoughts and push Jim from his mind during the controlled portion of the experiment, Spock was fairly certain that he could form an accurate hypothesis to predict his reaction upon re-exposure to Jim.

For some reason, the very idea of once more allowing himself to see Jim sent a frisson of excitement through Spock.  _Illogical_.

Ignoring his profound leaps of logic and the suddenly appearing eagerness to hasten the commencement of his next experiment, Spock quickly and efficiently brought himself out of his meditation.

He opened his eyes to the sight of Jim staring up at the sky through his open bedroom window.

It had been a rather long time (now 4.3052 days, to be exact) since Spock had allowed himself to simply look at Jim, and as a result, he found himself doing little more than staring for approximately 74.8240 seconds before finally regaining his senses. 

It did not seem as though Jim was planning on going anywhere at any time in the near future.  Spock considered the human briefly before making a decision.  Now was as good a time as any to begin the first run of his experiment.

Were Spock human, the uneasy feeling in the pit of his stomach may have been attributed to an illogical human condition he had heard referred to as “nerves”; however, as he was a Vulcan, Spock was able to logically assure himself that he was feeling no such thing.  Nevertheless, he still hurried over to the window and threw it open quickly so as to prevent further contemplation of the subject.

Over the countless millennia in which Vulcans had been inhabiting a desert planet, Vulcan physiology had progressed naturally toward the constant conservation of water.  As a result, their mouths produced far less saliva than that of their human counterparts.  It was a matter of biology and not something that Spock had questioned after his initial curiosity as to the differences between his own Vulcan body and his mother’s human one.

Because of this, Spock was incredibly perplexed to find that he was suffering from a condition known as xerostomia—to Spock’s knowledge this was known as “dry mouth” to less educated humans—for the first time in his existence.  In spite of this ill-timed, yet not entirely debilitating ailment, he somehow forced himself to speak.  “Jim.”

Jim’s head had turned toward him the minute he heard the window open, but upon Spock’s utterance of his name, something within him seemed to snap.  The human’s face twisted, and with a glare at Spock, Jim slammed his own window shut.

The Vulcan once more spent an inordinately extended period of time staring at the space Jim had previously occupied as he attempted to process what had just happened and, more importantly, how he felt about it.  Spock was… hurt by Jim’s automatic rejection of him.  There was an inexplicably deep ache in his right side, in the area of his heart.  Even in his altercations with his agemates on Vulcan, Spock had never felt such a thing.  Anger, indignation, protectiveness… those he was familiar with.  But emotional pain such as this, he had never experienced.

Spock’s mother possessed several hardbound paper books.  Spock had been insatiably curious when he was younger, and upon noticing his curiosity, Amanda had allowed him to peruse them.  Among them, he had found one particular book that he favored (not that he would have admitted it at the time) by a human named Sir Arthur Conan Doyle.  In his contemplation of his feelings in the wake of Jim’s actions, Spock recalled one significant phrase that seemed particularly applicable to the current situation. 

“When you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth.”

While it was not impossible for him to be without Jim, the more the idea of being _t’hy’la_ with Jim grew in his mind, the more unbearable the thought of being apart became.  By this line of reasoning, the only logical outcome dictated that he and Jim form a relationship.  This conclusion itself did not surprise him.  He had known that, should he and Jim in actuality turn out to be _t’hy’la_ , the most logical course of action was to form a more permanent bond.  This was not, to quote his mother, “news to him”.

What did surprise him was the pure need, the insuppressible craving that the thought engendered in him.  Spock _wanted_ to form a relationship with Jim.  He did not want it merely for the fact that they _could_ be _t’hy’la_ , but for the fact that he wanted Jim himself. 

4.3260 days of meditation, and it had taken less than 2.5836 minutes in Jim’s presence for him to realize what he had been missing all along.

Spock wanted Jim.  It was as simple as that.

 

* * *

 

 

As it turned out, Spock woke up the next morning and realized that it was _not_ as simple as that.  In the course of his revelations the previous evening, he had failed to take into consideration the fact that he was a Vulcan.  Even with the somewhat questionable claim that Jim was his _t’hy’la_ , a Vulcan operating within the propriety dictated by logic would never allow him or herself to make a decision on such an emotional basis as desire.  A reasonable Vulcan would weigh all options logically, analyze the costs and benefits of the possible outcomes, and come to a conclusion based on the results of this cogitation. 

Spock had not done any of this.  He had made the decision to pursue Jim on account of the fact that he desired to do so, and it really had seemed simple at the time.  In the light of day, however, Spock remembered one thing that should have occurred to him last night.

His father would not approve of his actions should he choose to pursue a relationship with Jim.

In spite of the fact that he had been living on Earth for a substantial amount of time, Spock had retained the predisposition to act more logical, more _Vulcan_ , when in the presence of his father.  He knew that this tendency stemmed from the illogically human and seemingly inherent need to gain his father’s approval, but despite much meditation on the matter, he had been unable to curb it.

The end result of this was, of course, the fact that he would somehow need to suppress his newly discovered feelings for Jim, since doing nothing would not be an appropriately Vulcan course of action. 

Unfortunately, his feelings for Jim did not _want_ to be suppressed.  No matter how much Spock tried, they refused to be submerged.

He did not know who to turn to for a solution to this matter.  Spock was closer to his mother by virtue of her openness and the fact that they cohabitated on a permanent basis; however, he did not believe that it would be wise to ask for her advice about his feelings for Jim.  It was very likely that Amanda would actually _encourage_ him to pursue Jim instead of advising him about ways in which he would be able to forget his desire to do so.  No, his mother was not a viable option.

Nor was his father a desirable option.  Sarek was the being from whom Spock was attempting to keep these emotions hidden.  To bring the matter to him for consideration would be illogical.

Regrettably, as Spock spent more time deliberating on the subject, he began to realize that his father may be the only one from whom he would be able to ask advice about emotional control.  As much as he disliked the thought of disappointing his father, there were no other options from which he could choose.

Resigned, Spock decided that it was time to ‘bite the bullet’, as his mother was fond of saying.  He stood, straightened his clothing, and departed his room to find his father.

Spock experienced a strange human phenomenon—he believed it was called _déjà vu_ —as he entered his father’s office.  There had been the same sense of dreadful anticipation and… fear as he had waited for his father to allow him entrance only 4.9056 days previous.  Spock did not relish the thought that he was getting to be well acquainted with unwanted emotions; perhaps whichever method Sarek advised him to utilize in the suppression of his feelings for Jim could be applied to these other, even less desirable sentiments.

When he was once again standing in front of his father, Sarek staring at him expectantly, Spock forced himself to take a deep breath before speaking so that his words would come out at a calm and measured pace.  “Father,” he began.  “I would like your advice on emotional suppression.  In the light of the discovery of my _t’hy’la_ , I have been unable to achieve balance in my meditations and have begun making decisions on the basis of emotion.” 

“You are sure that you and this human are _t’hy’la_ , then?” Sarek questioned.  “On what evidence have you based this conclusion?”

Sarek’s stare pierced him, and Spock found himself admitting, “Last night, I—I decided that I would begin pursuing Jim in the hopes of beginning a romantic relationship.  There was no logical reason for this choice; I simply wished to do so because I _wanted_ to.  I am drawn to him, and as a result, I am finding it exceedingly difficult to uphold the principles of Surak.”  Spock stood up straighter as his father’s gaze became disapproving.  “I believe the most logical course of action would be to rid myself of these feelings so that I may once again consider the subject in an objective manner.”

Spock did not know where to look when he had finished explaining the situation.  He was ashamed of his feelings and ashamed of himself for feeling them.  His father was obviously disappointed with him and would most likely tell him so this time.  Spock had gone too far by actually admitting to such a lapse in logic.

“Spock,” Sarek started.  “I believe you are under a misapprehension.  To a Vulcan, the _t’hy’la_ bond is the most sacred and coveted experience one can have.  As I understand it, _t’hy’la_ transcend logic; the beings involved, and indeed, the very bond itself, supersede the teachings of Surak.  The bond is not bound by Vulcan logic.  It originates in your _katra_ , and your _katra_ has recognized Jim’s as its own.  There is no shame in this.” 

Spock’s eyes opened wide in shock.  He had not been expecting his father to condone his illogical actions, let alone encourage them. 

Sarek seemed to sense his hesitation.  “Spock,” he said, his tone commanding his son’s attention.  “It is logical to bond with one’s _t’hy’la_.  To do so would not bring shame upon you, nor would it cause your mother or I to be disappointed with you.  In this, it is necessary for you to do what you must to ensure that your future bonding will take place.”

The tightness around his lungs—which Spock had not been aware existed—eased, and then disappeared altogether.  Spock had never been the type to blindly follow the advice of others, even when that advice came from his parents, but for once his desire to do so outweighed his tendency to overthink things.  The sheer _want_ for Jim overpowered him, and he knew that the decision had been made.

Spock would find a way to make Jim want him back.  One way or another, Jim would be his.

 

* * *

 

 

It was becoming commonplace for Spock to awaken in the middle of the night to find the horrifying sound of Jim’s screams echoing in his head.  Each night since the joining of their minds 13.3489 days ago, Spock had awoken upon hearing it, and each time, Spock had kept himself from reaching out, from deepening the link that was already forming between them.  He had known that it would be wrong to do so, in spite of the comfort it would bring Jim.   It was not just that the human was unaware and non-consenting to the touch of Spock’s mind.  Spock had also needed to take into consideration the fact that he himself had been unsure whether he wanted to form a permanent bond between his mind and Jim’s. 

It had caused him to hesitate, even when he wanted to reach out with his mind and comfort the human.  To do so regardless of the consequences would be obscenely illogical and cruel.  To form such a bond unknowingly was one thing, but to do so while possessing full knowledge of his actions was… unthinkable.

Now, however, Spock knew what he wanted, and he knew that, whatever the consequences, he needed to bring comfort to the human who meant more to him than he could have ever believed possible.  And so, with that thought in mind, Spock allowed himself to close his eyes and find the small tether in his head that linked him to Jim.

And then he landed flat on his back in the middle of a field.

Spock’s first thought was that the sky was beautiful.  Night was falling, and he was obviously on another planet for the sun did not set with the same colors as it did on Earth or on Vulcan.  The sky was vibrantly cool with interwoven shades of purple, blue, and green that danced as the sun sank lower beyond the horizon.  It was fascinating.

Then he noticed the smell.

A foul, putrid odor permeated the air.  Spock looked around, attempting to find the source, and noticed a heap of rotting corpses that lay abandoned nearby.  He stumbled to his feet, choking as he inhaled, trying to take in some fresh air around the sweet stench of decaying humanoid flesh.  It was revolting, and Spock tried to prevent himself from retching as he hurried away from the bodies with as much haste as he could manage in his compromised state.

Unfortunately, there seemed to be a number of corpses—human, alien, and animal alike—piled along his path as he rushed through a field of grain that Spock now realized seemed to be, if anything, in a more advanced state of putrefaction than the bodies he was passing.  The stalks were blackened, baking in the sun, and smelled just as strongly, if not as sweetly, as the rotting corpses.  Spock stopped and looked forward in horror.  This sight—the withered fields and the fallen bodies—continued as far as the eye could see.

“Spock?” a voice behind him asked, confused.  “What the fuck are you doing on Tarsus?”

Spock turned and nearly lost the fight with his stomach.

It was Jim, but not Jim as Spock knew him now.  Spock’s eyes roamed over the boy, cataloguing the differences.  This Jim was a few years younger and several pounds lighter.   His skin was filthy, and his clothes appeared to have been soaked in blood.  His hair was thin as a result of malnourishment, and his nails were torn and caked with grime.  It was Jim’s face though—his eyes in particular—that made Spock pause.  They were haunted and guarded to a degree that Spock had never seen before, even on the normally wary teenager he had spent so much time observing.

“Oh, that’s just fucking great!” Jim continued.  “As if it’s not enough that you’ve been following me everywhere I go, now I gotta see you in my fucking dreams?”  Jim huffed out a bitter laugh.  “That’s just like me.  Of course, I have to form some kind of obsession with the guy who’s been stalking me.  As if I didn’t have enough shit wrong with me…”  Spock watched, his eyes wide, as Jim started pacing in front of him and gesticulating with his hands as he spoke.  “Born in the middle of a god damned firefight in space…”  He held up one finger, and started counting.  “…father died in—oh yeah!— _the same god damned firefight in space_ , mom dumps me here with that asshole Frank, Sam abandons me, then there was the total clusterfuck that was Tarsus IV, and _now…_ ”  Jim glared at Spock.  “Now, I’m sitting here having a fucking pity party with that bastard Vulcan, Spock who’s got some kind of freaky obsessive stalker hard-on for me.  What the fuck?”

Spock did not know how to reply to Jim’s words.  It did not seem as though Jim realized that Spock was actually there with him in his dreams, and Spock did not want to dissuade him of that belief.  To do so would be highly illogical as Jim would most likely raise his shields the moment he realized that he was not _really_ alone in his own head.

He tried to think of something that he could say that would in no way allow Jim to come to the realization the Spock was actually there in his head.  Unfortunately, the first thing that came to mind was, “You do realize that, as my parents were legally married at the time of my birth, I am not, in fact, the bastard you have accused me of being.”

Jim stared at him for approximately 5.4021 seconds, seemingly in shock, and then, he threw his head back and laughed.

It was now Spock’s turn to stare in shock.  Jim’s laugh was possibly the most beautiful thing he had ever heard, and his face, as emaciated and grimy as it was, was indescribable.  For the first time since he had realized that he and Jim may be _t’hy’la,_ Spock was overwhelmingly proud of that fact.  He was the one who would one day be able to look upon that laughing face and say, “This is my mate; this is my Jim.”

Another realization hit him as he watched Jim laugh:  It was not that he would need to convince Jim that he belonged to Spock.  Instead, Spock would need to prove to Jim that he was worthy of the human.  That was the only way in which he would ever be able to convince such a person to accept him as a mate.

Jim stopped laughing, and Spock realized that whatever humor had been there was now gone.  The human huffed out another bitter laugh.  “Wow, I can’t believe I have you pinned so well.  That sounds exactly like something the real Spock would say.”  Jim scratched his head.  “Or, at least, I think he would.  He seems to be pretty fucking literal.”  Jim sighed and pressed the heels of his palms over his eyes.  “My brain must be trying to cheer me up or something.  God, why the fuck am I like this?  I already know there is not a fucking chance things will ever get better, and yet I still insist on trying to give myself what…?  Hope, or some shit like that?”  He hung his head.  “Why do I keep doing this to myself?”

Spock was once again at a loss for what to say, equal parts alarmed and dismayed by what he had just heard.  He needed to say something that would comfort Jim, restore his hope, or at the very least assist him in some way.  For all of the attributes that his mother insisted he had, it appeared as though those necessary to comfort his _t’hy’la_ were not in his possession.  He thought about what his mother usually did when she knew Spock was upset—he was still unable to comprehend how it was she knew when he did not show any outward signs of it—and realized that whenever she attempted to comfort him, there were two elements that remained constant regardless of the problem.

Physical contact and reassurances.  Surely, that is what Jim needed.

Hesitantly, Spock reached out and, slowly so as not to startle Jim, he pulled his _t’hy’la_ toward him and into his arms.  Once he had positioned the human’s head on his chest, Spock stroked Jim’s hair as his mother had always done for him and said, “Everything will be all right, Jim.”

For a moment, there was silence, and Spock felt a sense of peace while having Jim in his arms.

Then, Jim shoved himself away from Spock.  “No!” he snapped, his face creased in distress.  “I can’t let myself lean on you, even if it is just a god damned dream.  There’s not a fucking thing in my life that’s ‘all right’, and there never will be, so just go _away!_ ”

And Spock woke up, alone in his bed, feeling further from Jim than he ever had before.

 

* * *

 

 

Spock could find no significant reference to a planet called Tarsus IV.

He had spent a considerable amount of time on his computer terminal attempting to locate information on the planet in question, but the most he had been able to find was a small passage that read, _Tarsus IV: the fourth planet in the Tarsus star system._   Spock would admit to being rather frustrated; the information was useless to his understanding of Jim’s situation.

Finally admitting defeat, Spock commanded the computer to perform an automatic shut down and went downstairs to join his mother for breakfast.

“Good morning, Mother,” Spock greeted her as he sat down at the table.

Amanda turned to him with a smile.  “Good morning, Spock,” she answered cheerfully.  Then she frowned as she examined his face.  “Spock, you look as if you didn’t sleep well last night.  Is everything all right?”

Spock considered her question for a moment, wondering whether he should apprise her of the details he had acquired last night from Jim’s dreams.  A part of him wanted nothing more than to ask advice from his mother, but another, stronger part insisted that to do so would be seen as a betrayal of Jim.  Spock shook his head.  He would not betray his _t’hy’la_ by sharing his dreams with another, but perhaps his mother could help him in another way.

“Mother, have you ever heard of a planet called Tarsus IV?”

Amanda paled.  “That horrible place!”  She shuddered and looked him in the eye.  “Why do you want to know, Spock?”

Spock was rather taken aback by his mother’s reaction, but he pressed forward.  “It is very important, Mother.  Please tell me.”

His mother assessed him for a moment before nodding.  “All right,” she agreed, sighing.  “Do not repeat this, for I am not even supposed to know about it.  The Federation went to a great deal of trouble to keep their planets from finding out about it.  The only reason I know at all is because of your father.  Normally it wouldn’t have been any of my business, but well… I could _feel_ that he was horrified by what they found on that planet when the ships finally arrived to aid the colonists.  He was upset by it, and so I interfered and made him share his burdens for once.”  She frowned briefly before smiling at him fondly.  “Your father is very stubborn, much like another Vulcan I know and love.”

“Mother,” he said with a hint of exasperated affection in his voice.  “The planet?”

“Right, well, Tarsus IV was a colony of about eight thousand people.  The colony was prosperous for some time, but about a year and a half ago the crops started to die because of a plague.  Apparently, the governor, Kodos, was able to keep everyone calm for a while, but the food started to run out quickly, and people started to panic.  Kodos decided to implement his own twisted brand of eugenics and ordered the death of half of the population so that the half he deemed more worthy would be able to survive until the Federation ships arrived.  Over four thousand people were murdered.”  She shook her head sadly.  “And the worst part is that it was all in vain.  Starfleet arrived not two weeks after Kodos gave the order, and in that time, the remaining colonists had rioted and ended killing off another two-thirds of the remaining population.”

Spock stared at her in complete astonishment.  How was it possible that Jim had lived through such an ordeal?  What Spock had seen in Jim’s head the previous night had been horrific, but he had obviously interrupted one of Jim’s tamer memories of Tarsus IV.  He had seen no massacre, no riots; there had been plenty of bodies, yet he had seen none of them in the act of dying.  What other terrors could be hiding in the back of Jim’s mind, plaguing his waking life and haunting his dreams?  Spock almost couldn’t bear to think about it.

This did explain a lot about Jim though.  The insufficient body weight for a teenaged male, his wariness, the peculiar eating habits…  Several things had been put into place in Spock’s mind, but there were pieces still missing.

This explained a lot, but it did not explain everything.

“Spock?” Amanda interrupted his thoughts.  “Does this have something to do with…”  Her eyes widened in horror, and if possible, she paled even further.  “Jim,” she breathed, obviously “putting two and two together”, as the saying goes.

Spock nodded solemnly and confirmed her suspicions.  “Yes, Mother.  Jim was on Tarsus IV.”

 

* * *

 

 

That Vulcan had stopped following him, and for some reason, that was really bothering Jim.

Jim hadn’t exactly been thrilled when the bastard had started stalking him—in fact, he’d been pissed—but after Spock had saved him from those assholes two weeks ago, he’d been kind of warming up to the idea that there was at least someone out there who had his back.  It had been way too fucking long since he had had someone in his corner, and though he was sure he couldn’t actually trust Spock with that position, a part of him really wanted to.  He was fucking tired and really just wanted to give in and let someone else do the worrying for a while.

Unfortunately, Jim knew he couldn’t allow himself to do that.  He hadn’t trusted anyone in a long time, and he wasn’t about to start trusting again with a god damned Vulcan.  Jim snorted.  Hell, the guy was so literal-minded that he thought ‘bastard’ actually mean ‘a child born of unwed parents’. 

He frowned.  Where had that come from?  Jim knew he and Spock had never had an actual conversation, so there was no way he would know what Spock’s reaction to being called a bastard would be.

Fragments of last night’s dream floated back to him.  Fuck, he’d been dreaming about _Spock_!  Well, first it had been about Tarsus, but then Spock had shown up and… hugged him?  Obviously Jim was getting a bit fucked up in the head if he was dreaming about Vulcans hugging him.  That just wasn’t natural.

Damn it, there was something seriously wrong with him these days.  First, he had caught himself thinking that the Vulcan was hot.  It wasn’t all that unusual for him to think something like that about a guy.  Even though he was fucked up, he was still a teenager; it happened occasionally.  But, Spock was a _Vulcan_.  He had that stupid bowl cut and no expression, and just how the fuck was that attractive?  It wasn’t normal, for fuck’s sake.

Then, the Vulcan had started following him—and that had been weird enough—but now, the guy had just stopped tailing him out of the blue and he was _upset_ about it?  How was that even possible?  He should be glad that things could go back to normal, back to him being safe in his bubble and only coming out long enough to let Frank beat the shit out of him before retreating again.  Instead, Jim was upset because he had let himself do something he had promised himself he would stop doing. 

He had started to hope again, and that was something Jim couldn’t allow.

The dreams were the last straw though.  Jim was used to nightmares.  He’d been having them on a regular basis since he was old enough to understand the words, “Your father died for you.”  Dreams on the other hand…  Jim didn’t _have_ real dreams, at least, not ones he remembered. 

He was remembering the dream with Spock though.  That wasn’t supposed to happen.  The Vulcan wasn’t supposed to be in his fucking dreams, and Jim wasn’t supposed to remember it if he was.   Even worse, Spock had hugged him, and Jim had let him.  What the _fuck_ had that been about?

Perhaps, it was because Spock had tried to speak with him the night before last.  Jim had been pissed— _Who the fuck does he think he is, talking to me after ignoring me for so long?_ —and slammed shut the only barrier he could—the window.  He had regretted that later after Frank’s beating when the claustrophobia had set in again, but at the time, it had been the only thing he could think to do that would keep Spock out completely.

Later, he had begun to wonder why Spock had even tried to speak to him in the first place.  Both of their windows were usually kept open and the Vulcan was almost constantly following him, and yet Spock had never tried to speak with him before.  It had made him curious, and he hadn’t been able to stop thinking about it.  Maybe that was what had caused the dreams…

Jim had been thinking more often lately about confronting Spock about the whole thing—the stalking, the not stalking, the attempted conversation at their windows, everything.  Perhaps it was time that he finally manned up and cornered the guy.

Jim nodded decisively to himself.  It was settled.  Tomorrow was Monday, and after school, that bastard Spock was going to tell him everything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, guys, I hope you liked it. Please let me know what you think. :)


	6. Over Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> …I wanna get closer and closer still
> 
> I wanna take over your heart
> 
> You will be mine, mine
> 
> Over time, time
> 
> You're gonna find, find
> 
> I'll make you mine, mine…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my god, I am so sorry for the wait. :/ I have been extremely busy, and I haven't been able to write. Good news is, I got some inspiration last night, finished up the chapter, and got my beta to do a rush job. This chapter is a bit shorter than the previous ones, but it's packed full of plot so I hope it suffices. Enjoy.
> 
> Oh, and for anyone who reviewed in the last month or so, I'm sorry for not responding. When I get busy, I tend to neglect all aspects of fanfiction because they are way too addicting and distracting. Please forgive me for not letting myself be drawn back in by your awesome reviews. I hope you all know that they did at least make me smile when I finally let myself read them. XD
> 
> Thank you, thank you, THANK YOU to my beta, Delu. XD

His mother wasn’t talking.

That in itself wasn’t an oddity, but the fact that she wasn’t making any noise at all was.  Amanda was not the most talkative human Spock had ever met, but she was not quiet either, and she most definitely did not like silence.  One of the most defining differences between Spock’s upbringing and that of the other Vulcans was that his mother was constantly humming or listening to music in order to fill the silence that seemed to be inherent in Vulcan households. 

Though his father had needed to grow used to the change, Spock himself had never known anything different.  In fact, he had only seen his mother in such a state on very few occasions prior, and all of these followed occurrences in which either Spock had been hurt or Sarek had been, in Amanda’s own words, a “stubborn, arrogant, dim-witted Vulcan”. 

Spock knew that her current reticence had something to do with Jim.  He had only asked her about Tarsus IV 4.8703 hours ago, and it was obvious that she had yet to finish thinking about it.  Not that Spock had expected her to.  After all, he too was unable to put it out of his mind.

Perhaps, as they were most likely ruminating on similar subjects, Spock should take the opportunity to speak with her about what he should do to advance his relationship with Jim.  Since he had only recently decided that he wished to do so, he had not yet informed her, nor had he asked for her advice on the matter.  This was something he clearly needed to rectify, considering his lack of knowledge on the subject of human relationships and courting rituals.

Spock exited his room and went down to the kitchen where he knew his mother was in what he had heard her refer to as a “baking frenzy”.  She had always done something similar when there were issues she needed to think about.

He had asked her about it once.  Spock had been in his fourth year, and he had not understood what she was doing.  Amanda had given him a fond smile and told him that when she needed to think, it was easiest for her to do so when her hands were occupied with something she didn’t _have_ to think about.  It had been a difficult concept for him to grasp as a child because he had not yet realized just how different Vulcans and humans were.  Spock had not understood that while he could simultaneously conduct an experiment, perform complex mathematical computations, and ponder the teachings of Surak, humans were unable to carry out multiple thought processes at the same time.

Sometimes, Spock could understand why some Vulcans considered humans to be a lesser species.  They were just so limited by their biology.

But then he would think of Amanda, and he knew that he could never _not_ be grateful that she was his mother, perhaps especially because she was human.  She was so warm, so loving, and Spock knew that none of his Vulcan peers had had mothers half as wonderful as his own.

“Mother,” Spock said softly after making sure that she was not utilizing any of the kitchen equipment that could potentially maim and/or burn her.  He had learned on previous occasions that it was best not to startle Amanda while she was working in the kitchen.  She still had the small burn scar on her right hand from the last time it had happened, and he still felt guilty whenever he caught a glimpse of the evidence of his mistake.

Amanda turned towards him, a freshly prepared sheet of unbaked cookies in her hands.  She gave Spock a small smile when she saw that it was him, but it did not develop into her usual radiant grin, and Spock knew that she must be more upset about Jim’s situation than he had first suspected.

She raised one eyebrow in question.  “Spock.”

Spock was well aware that his biology was predominantly Vulcan, but he _had_ inherited a great many human traits from his mother.  Some of these traits were physical--his eyes, for example, were almost identical to Amanda’s—and some were gestures picked up during the course of his development.  One such gesture involved the precise manipulation of the epicranial muscles known as the occipitalis and frontalis.

Now that they were living on Earth, the reminder of his humanity presented by his mother was welcomed rather than shunned.  Spock was now happy to know just how much he had taken after his mother.  It would allow him to be a better companion for his _t’hy’la_.

“Mother, I know that you are still in a state of shock as a result of what I revealed this morning, but I must request your assistance with another matter related to Jim.”

Amanda held up one hand.  “Let me get these in the oven, and then we can sit down and talk about it.”

Spock nodded in acquiescence, and his mother did as she had said she would, putting the cookie sheet in the oven and setting the timer before joining him at the table.  “Okay, Spock, what did you want to talk about?”

Spock nodded once more in affirmation, before saying, “Jim and I are _t’hy’la_.  I suspect that Father has already told you this.”  Amanda smiled, and Spock took that as a confirmation of his supposition.  “I have decided to do what I can to create a relationship between us, but I am at a loss as to how to proceed.  As my mother and the only human with whom I am familiar enough to request such a thing, I would ask for your advice on the matter.”

Amanda took a moment to think before answering. “You are going to have to go slow, Spock,” she finally said.  “I hesitate to say that Jim is… damaged, but he has been hurt, probably even more than we realize.  He has most likely experienced things that neither one of us can imagine.  He isn’t going to trust you easily.  If you try to move too quickly, you could end up alienating him permanently.”

Spock considered this for a moment before nodding.  “I will begin by attempting to cultivate a friendship with Jim.  I do not consider myself to be well-versed in matters of human sociological norms, so I do not know the best way by which I can most successfully do so.  Do you have any recommendations, Mother?”

“Well, you definitely won’t have to worry about finding time to spend with him,” Amanda replied with a small grin.  “If you put as much effort into becoming his friend as you do into stalking him, you guys will be thicker than thieves in no time.”  Her grin softened into a fond smile.  “Just be patient, Spock.  Try to talk with him as you would with me.  You are the most honorable and trustworthy being I know, and hopefully, it won’t take Jim long to see you as I do.”  Mischief crept into her expression, so Spock was half expecting it when she said, “I am relieved to hear that your heart does have some influence over you after all, my son.”  She put a hand over her own heart.  “After all these years, I was beginning to grow worried.”

Spock tilted his head, effecting the “confused alien” look he had perfected when he was a child.  “My heart has great effect on me, Mother, as without it, I would be unable to function.  It does not, however, have any effect on my decisions regarding Jim Kirk.”  He sniffed derisively.  “Unlike some I may mention, I am a logical being, and as such, all quandaries brought to my attention are solved through logical means.”

Amanda laughed.  “You keep telling yourself that.”   

 

* * *

 

 

Jim closed his eyes as Frank’s fist collided with his face again.  He tasted blood, pressing the tip of his tongue to the corner of his mouth and suppressing a wince at the sting.  Fuck, he could already feel the bruises forming.

He needed to get out of there.  He knew from experience that Frank was just getting started, and Jim didn’t want to end up being unable to go to school tomorrow.  He slumped to the ground, both in an attempt to get out of punching range and in the hopes of lulling his step-father into a false sense of security so that he could make a run for it.

Frank didn’t fall for it.  “You’re a worthless piece of shit, Jim,” the man snarled and, enraged by Jim’s lack of cooperation, kicked the boy in the stomach.  “Can’t even stand up and face me like a man.  Stupid, whiny, little bitch.”  Jim heard the rustling of clothing and opened his eyes in panic as he realized what it meant.  “Bitches need to be put in their place.”  Frank’s pants fell to his knees.

Jim scrambled back in terror.  He had been here before, even if he had been drugged out of his mind at the time, and the thought of going through it again… 

He couldn’t go through it again.  He couldn’t.  He wouldn’t survive this time.  Hell, he had barely survived it last time.  If Frank didn’t kill him during the act itself, Jim was sure that being forced to live in the same house as his rapist would finish the job.

He shook his head as Frank came closer.  This couldn’t be happening.  His greatest fear was staring him in the face, and there was not a god damned thing he could do to stop it.

“Jim!”

Jim sat up in bed, his breathing ragged, simultaneously wondering at and grateful for whatever the fuck had pulled him from his nightmare.  He knew it sounded crazy, but Jim would have sworn that the voice he had heard had belonged to Spock.  He ran a hand over his sweat-soaked hair and looked over to where he could see Spock’s room through his window.  The Vulcan appeared to be sleeping, and though Jim glared at him suspiciously for a moment, daring him to move, Spock continued to lie there obliviously.

Well, that confirmed it.  Jim was officially insane.

He sighed and moved to sit against the wall next to the bed.  It was too early to start getting ready for school, but like hell was he going back to sleep.  He was sure that the only thing waiting for him there was more nightmares.

Jim put his head into his hands as the images from his dreams played before his eyes once more.  This wasn’t the first time his dreams had blended what had happened on Tarsus into his current reality, but every time it had happened previously, he had dreamed of going hungry because Frank denied him food or of being beaten by Kodos instead of Frank.  It had never been like this.

Frank had never touched him—at least not _that_ way—but the man’s words from the night before had obviously fucked with his mind.  “Bitches need to be put in their place,” Frank had said before laying into him with a barrage of punches and kicks that he knew had already turned into a mess of bruises across his body.  He had finally gotten free a short time later, but the words had echoed in his head and stuck there as he fell asleep.  They were much too similar to the words another man had said as he was…

Jim let out a groan and let his head fall back against the wall with a dull thud.  He was _not_ thinking about this.  It was in the past, and he was so fucking tired of letting all of that shit haunt him.  Better to focus on other things, like what the fuck he was going to say to Spock when he talked to him later.

Spock was a puzzle that Jim just couldn’t solve.  No matter how he looked at it, he never felt like he had all of the pieces.  What the fuck did the Vulcan want from him?  At first, he had thought Spock was pissed at him for some reason, but the other teenager hadn’t tried to hurt him yet.  In fact, he had pretty much saved Jim’s life.  How was Jim supposed to react when he had no idea _why_ Spock had saved him?  He was still trying to work it all out, but he just couldn’t find any plausible reason for why Spock would give a damn.

Jim closed his eyes and sighed.  This line of thinking was just going around in circles and giving him a headache.

And god damn it, he was tired.  Perhaps it wouldn’t hurt to sleep for a little while longer.  He only had about thirty minutes before he needed to start getting ready for school; there was no way he could get too far into a bad dream in that amount of time, or at least he hoped there wasn’t.

 _Fuck it_ , Jim thought and let himself drift into sleep.

 

* * *

 

Jim decided to wait until after school to confront Spock.  Aside from their shared lunch, Jim didn’t really see much of the Vulcan during the day, and like hell was he going to let the entire student body see him get his ass kicked.

So he waited, planning out what he was going to say in his head while he ignored his teachers during class, avoided other students in the hallways, and sat at his lunch table not touching his food. 

Jim needed to be careful about what he said in his quest to get answers.  Both his face and his body were already a patchwork of bruises from last night’s beating; even if he didn’t take into account Spock’s alien strength, Jim knew that he was in no shape for a fight.  As much as didn’t want to admit it, he was sure that, should it come to that, the Vulcan would have him unconscious on the ground before he could even raise a hand to defend himself.

Luckily for Jim, Spock didn’t seem to be the type to be easily provoked into physical violence.  Even so, he figured it was probably best if he erred on the side of caution.

Jim would get his answers; he’d just have to be smart about it.

When class finally let out for the day, Jim put his books into his locker and headed out of the school like he did every day.  He was fairly certain that Spock would be following him again today.  After all, the Vulcan had broken his own self-imposed absence by trying to talk to Jim through their windows the other night, so it wasn’t that far of a stretch for Jim to assume that Spock would pick up where he left off with his stalking shtick.

Sure enough, less than one minute after leaving the school building, Jim spotted Spock behind him.  He shook his head.  If Spock was attempting to be sneaky, he was doing a very poor job.

Jim had stopped walking for a moment, trying to figure out where the fuck he should go for his unscheduled meeting with Spock, when he turned his head to find the Vulcan staring at him, his head tilted slightly to one side and his arms held behind his back.  Jim did a double take.  He couldn’t believe he had allowed Spock to creep up on him not even five minutes after mentally criticizing the Vulcan on his ability to be sneaky.  Obviously, Jim needed to be more vigilant.

“Jim,” Spock said calmly.  “There is a matter of great importance that I was hoping to discuss with you.”

Jim stared at him suspiciously.  He just couldn’t figure this guy out.  “What the fuck?” he spat.  “First you stalk me; then, you avoid me like I have the fucking plague or something; and now, you want to talk?  What is your deal, man?”

“I…” Spock started.

Jim interrupted him.  “Why are you doing this?  Why were you even following me in the first place?”  He paused and thought for a moment.  “And why is your mom always giving me food?  It’s weird.”

Spock stared at him blankly for several seconds before answering.  “I cannot speak as to my mother’s motives, for she has not spoken of them with me; however, if I were required to form a hypothesis, I would say that she is attempting to show you kindness by ‘fattening you up’.”  Jim swallowed down the lump that was trying to form in his throat at the thought of someone actually wanting to show him kindness.  “As for my own motivation, well, it is rather complicated, and it was necessary for me to undergo extensive amounts of meditation before I understood that my interest in you was not a result of scientific curiosity, but rather because I wished to befriend you.”  Spock looked at him, chagrined.  “Vulcans were not…”  He paused to search for the appropriate word before continuing, “…accepting of my hybrid status.  As such, friendship is not something with which I am familiar.  I hope I have not alienated you completely through my actions.”

Jim just stared at him.  The Vulcan wanted to be friends?  How was Jim supposed to respond to that?

Had he signed up for a shiny new Vulcan BFF?  No.  Did he want one?  Not really.  Did he think he had a choice in the matter?  Based on Spock’s history of stalking—which, regardless of any benefit Jim may have received from it, had been done completely against his will—Jim thought not.

Jim had to admit that he was feeling a bit relieved though.  All day, he had been building himself up for a fight that hadn’t come.  As the tension went out of his shoulders, Jim realized just how much it had exhausted him to carry that load on top of his usual wariness.  Jim didn’t have the energy to fight Spock on something that wasn’t going to endanger his life.

 _Fuck it_ , Jim thought.  He jerked his head at Spock in a nonverbal indication that he was going to keep walking, and Spock could follow if he wanted to.  Chances were the Vulcan was going to follow him whether he wanted him to or not, so Jim had decided not to care if it was at a distance or at his side.

He couldn’t help but notice that walking home with Spock was much nicer than walking home with... Jim couldn’t even remember her name (and how fucked up was that?).  She had chattered at him nonstop and wanted to know everything about him from his favorite color to what he did for fun.  Spock at least knew when to shut up.

“Jim, I am curious about your pastimes.  How do you entertain yourself when you are not otherwise occupied with school?”

_Oh, fuck my life._

 

* * *

 

 

Spock was taken aback when Jim stopped walking and spun around to face him.

“Look,” Jim said, moving closer to Spock and glaring up at him.  “You can walk home with me if you want, but I _do not_ want to be your friend.  Friendships don’t form because you want them to.  They’re a shitty side effect that comes about when you need something, and right now, I don’t need anything from _you._ ”  Jim turned and started walking quickly away from Spock.  “We are _not_ friends, and we aren’t _going_ to be,” he threw over his shoulder as he stormed up the sidewalk toward his house.

Spock processed this quickly.  Though he was hurt by his _t’hy’la_ ’s callous words, Spock knew that he would need to deal with the emotional fallout later.  He needed to think about the situation in a rational manner.  Jim was merely throwing these words at him as a shield to protect himself.  He was like a wounded _sehlat_ , so blinded by its own pain that it could not do anything but lash out regardless of the pain it would cause to others. 

Spock hurried after Jim in an attempt to catch him before he could disappear into his house, somehow knowing that if he let the human go like this, he would not get another chance to befriend him.  As his legs were significantly longer than Jim’s, it was a simple task for Spock to draw parallel with his _t’hy’la_ and begin speaking with him once more.

“It is understandable for you to not wish for my friendship at this time, Jim,” Spock said, making sure to keep his voice neutral so as to not scare the boy again.  “However, I feel that it is necessary to inform you that should you wish to change your mind at any time, the offer of my friendship will still be open.  My only request is that you allow me to accompany you to and from school.  I find the walks to be much more pleasant when you are present.”

Jim looked at him uncertainly, and Spock wished that he could remove all of the wariness from his _t’hy’la_ ’s expression.  It caused an uncomfortable sensation to spread through body whenever he saw that look on Jim’s face.

“Whatever,” Jim finally conceded.  “You’d probably just follow me anyway.  Might as well walk together.” 

“Thank you, Jim,” Spock replied gratefully.  “I will attempt to be less of a… I believe my mother’s terminology was ‘lurker’… in the future.”

The silence that followed seemed somewhat heavy to Spock.  He and Jim stared at each other for several long moments, before the human scowled, stomped up to his house, and slammed the door behind him.

Spock simply stood there looking at said door for a while, before slowly making his way toward his own house.  His first real conversation with Jim had not been at all what he had imagined it would be.  Even so, Spock had to think that, all things considered, it could have gone worse. 

At least Jim had agreed to allow Spock to be in his presence for the duration of the daily walks to and from school, something the Vulcan was extremely appreciative of.  Though his ability to sneak had improved greatly during the course of his one-sided relationship with Jim, Spock would not say that he was good at it by any means, and it was a relief to be able to retire that specific skill set.

There was one thing that was bothering him about his conversation with Jim.  His _t’hy’la_ ’s insistence that they would never be friends was both worrying and—though he did not wish to admit it—hurtful to Spock.  Obviously, Spock would need to move even slower than he had previously estimated in order to gain Jim’s trust.

Spock took a deep, calming breath.  Keeping his emotional stability was a must, especially considering Jim’s inner turmoil.  Spock did not know how much his own emotions could have an effect on Jim, but, as his mother was fond of saying, it was better to be safe than sorry.  He needed to increase the amount of time he spent meditating, and then he needed to talk to his mother.  As confused as he currently was, Spock knew that she would somehow know what to do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you guys enjoyed this chapter. I would like to say that I won't leave you guys hanging for months on end, but I really can't guarantee anything. For me, summer just isn't a good time for writing, and I hope that that was all this was. Unfortunately, life has a way of rearing up and leaving no time for fanfic (I miss it sooooo much when I don't have time for it *whimper*). All I can say is that this fic has not and will not be abandoned. Though I may not post for a while, I want to see this story completed as much as (and probably more than) you guys do. It just might take me a while, so I apologize in advance.


	7. Every Morning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> …Every morning when she came outside  
> He tried to be the one to catch her eye  
> But she would only turn away and hide…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, I’m sorry it has taken me so long to get this chapter written. I have kinda been neglecting both my writing and my reviewers lately which is really inexcusable. I will try to do better and update more regularly.
> 
> This chapter is set up a bit differently from the previous chapters. The first part of the chapter contains entries from either Spock’s Observation Log or Jim’s journal. The rest of the chapter is in Jim’s POV. 
> 
> A round of applause for my beta, Delu, who always takes time away from her own things to deal with my shit. She’s such a good friend. :)
> 
> Edit 10/17/2015: I have decided that it makes more sense for Spock to be vegan than it does for him to be vegetarian. In the original version of this story, he was practically vegan as it was, but he had had milk and eggs at some point in his life even if he wasn't currently eating them. At the time, I wasn't aware that after a while some vegetarians and vegans get really sick if they eat animal products. Since Vulcans don't believe in hurting animals, it makes more sense for them to be vegan rather than vegetarian. If they've been that way for generations, it is highly unlikely that Spock would be able to process meat, milk, or eggs (no matter what TOS says). I have edited this chapter to reflect the change from vegetarianism to veganism.

_Observation Log, Stardate: 2247.349_

_Subject: James Tiberius Kirk, preferred appellation Jim_

_Age: 14.97 years_

_Current Location: Highland High School, Riverside, Iowa_

_Humans are, by their very nature, illogical beings.  I have had firsthand experience with this on several occasions, and though I have attempted to attach some meaning to their actions, I have, as of yet, been unable to do so.  Humans continue to confuse me, and none more so than my **t’hy’la** , Jim._

_I had intended for this morning to be the first in which Jim and I walked to school together.  This did not come to pass as I had anticipated._

_The morning began as planned.  I waited for Jim on the sidewalk opposite our houses.  While I was waiting, I noticed that the day was rather pleasant by Terran standards.  Neither too warm, nor too cold, with a slight breeze to keep the air from becoming stagnant.  Of course, it was still considered almost uncomfortably cool for my Vulcan physiology, but one of my mother’s homemade sweaters was doing a rather good job of keeping my body within the correct temperature range._

_Jim finally joined me outside 5.6847 minutes after I had departed my own domicile.  As he approached, I catalogued the new bruises that he had managed to acquire in the 15.6428 hours since we had last seen one another.  There was a rather large one on his left forearm, and its shape and positioning made me think that someone had grabbed him with enough strength to form the contusion._

**_* I must admit that even now my emotional controls are once more weakening at the thought of someone using such force on my t’hy’la.  It is unconscionable, and I must not allow myself to let my guard slip with regards to Jim’s movements.  I grow exceedingly desperate to find the source of his injuries, but as of now, I have yet to figure out how he could possibly be getting himself into trouble every night.  It is imperative that I perform my surveillance with more vigilance._ **

_Jim and I were able to talk amiably enough for much of the walk to school.  In a moment of curiosity that thrilled me deep into the depths of my **katra** , Jim inquired about my family’s reasons for moving to Earth.  I spoke to him of my hybrid status and of the cruelty of people towards that which is different.  I told him about the fights and how my mother, worried for my safety, had convinced my father to bring us here._

_Affected by this sharing of my history, I did something that I knew, even at the time, would only cause Jim to hide from me.  I suppose that even a Vulcan can experience the human notion of hope, and even a Vulcan can do foolish things as a result._

_“Jim, who gives you those bruises?”_

_Six words.  Six small words out of the thousands of other words I might have chosen, and all of the progress I had made with my **t’hy’la** shattered._

_Jim’s expression immediately became closed off and angry, and then he began to yell.  Though the words he used were more vulgar than I am willing to repeat here, the meaning he was attempting to impart was clear._

_It was not any of my business how he was hurt, and Jim would not be walking home with me that afternoon or any afternoon if he had his way._

* * *

 

_Observation Log, Stardate: 2247.350_

_Subject: James Tiberius Kirk, preferred appellation Jim_

_Age: 14.97 years_

_Current Location: Highland High School, Riverside, Iowa_

_I once more attempted to accompany Jim to school this morning.  I was unsuccessful in this endeavor._

_I do not understand why Jim reacted so strongly to my question.  He is correct that I had no right to ask such a thing; however, to avoid me completely for such a question seems to be an overreaction on Jim’s part._

_Tonight, I will confer with my mother on possible strategies by which I may be able to once more ingratiate myself into Jim’s favor._

 

* * *

_December 16, 2247_

_I don’t even know why I’m doing this.  I don’t usually write shit down.  It’s not really my thing.  I just need to get this stuff out of my head so I can figure out what the fuck it means.  That asshole Spock is still playing head games with me.  Well, he says he isn’t, but I don’t believe him.  I know that Vulcan bastard is hiding something, and I’m almost positive it has something to do with why he’s been following me around.  He says he wants to be my friend.  I think he’s full of shit.  Friendship is a loaded word.  It looks so damn good on paper but if you try to put it into practice, well, you’re going to be disappointed.  Actually, fuck all relationships.  It’s not like mine have done me any good.  I’ve been abandoned by every single person who ever claimed to have a relationship with me.  Dad died.  Mom fucked off to space in the name of duty.  Sam just fucked off, period.  All I’ve got left is Frank, which means as far as relationships go, I’m in the red.  That guy doesn’t do a damn thing for me.  Hell, I even had to steal this notebook from the Lost and Found.  Frank doesn’t even bother keeping **food** in the house let alone shit like school supplies.  Maybe that’s why I feel so drawn to Spock and his mother.  They actually seem to want me around.  Whatever their reason, even if it is just a big joke or they’re playing some game with me, I want what they have.  Fuck, I can’t let myself give in again.  I already let that bastard talk me into walking with him.  I can’t let him get to me.  I need to just stay away from him, but even if I could, I don’t think he would let me get away with it.  After all, the guy’s been stalking me for months now.  He’s not just going to let me go quietly.  I would confront him again, maybe even throw a few punches this time if I thought it would work.  It won’t though, and I know it.  Even if I did manage to get him angry enough to even think about fighting me, I would end up the loser.  There’s no possible way it could come out in my favor._

_Maybe I don’t want it to end that way, though._

_~~Part of me is starting to like the guy.~~ _

* * *

 

 

_Observation Log, Stardate: 2247.351_

_Subject: James Tiberius Kirk, preferred appellation Jim_

_Age: 14.97 years_

_Current Location: Highland High School, Riverside, Iowa_

_I did not give Jim the option of avoiding me today.  I decided to take the seat across from him at lunch, well after he had gotten himself situated at the table.  I knew from my time spent observing him that Jim was extremely averse to drawing the attention of others.  In fact, he seemed to go to extraordinary lengths to avoid “making a scene”, as my mother would call it.  I knew that should I manage to entrap him during lunch he would be forced to stay and talk to me, if only to prevent me from doing something to attract the attention of our fellow students._

_Jim was wary of me at first, glaring at me as though I was about inflict bodily harm upon him.  I waited for his tense muscles to relax somewhat before I spoke._

_I had known before sitting down that I would need to be even more direct with him this time.  I needed to make him listen to what I had to say if I was ever going to get anywhere with my **t’hy’la**._

_In a breach of my emotional control that would have been unthinkable to me had I still lived on Vulcan, I allowed myself to show a measure of my feelings for Jim on my face as I spoke to him.  My reasoning was sound, as I figured that without a demonstration of my own trust for him, Jim would never be comfortable enough to trust me in return, but in spite of this, even the slight upturn of my lips felt out of place on my face._

_Jim appeared to be taken aback by what could be considered an outpouring of emotion for a Vulcan, and it was while he was still in shock that I decided to enact my overture of friendship._

_Per my mother’s advice, I invited Jim over to my family’s house that afternoon after school._

_I am as of yet still unaware as to why he agreed._

* * *

_December 17, 2247_

_Why the fuck did I say yes?_

* * *

 

 

Jim left the building, hoping to put as much distance as he could between himself and the school before that bastard Vulcan realized he was gone.

He didn’t want to go over to Spock’s house.  He didn’t want to see Spock’s mom or think about the fact that his own mother had never and would never be to him what Amanda was to Spock.  He didn’t want to eat her fucking amazing cookies or have to endure the looks of pity he was sure he was going to get from them when he couldn’t help but eat said cookies as fast as they appeared in from of him (like he said, they were fucking _delicious_ ).

Jim didn’t want to be friends with Spock at all, but it looked as though the Vulcan was taking the decision out of his hands.

Spock had smiled at him today.  Fucking _smiled._   The corners of his mouth had only tilted up a tiny bit, but it had undoubtedly been a smile. 

Jim was almost positive that the almost imperceptible quirk of the lips—so small that on a human it would not have even qualified as anything at all—was the reason he had agreed to this stupid playdate at the Vulcan’s house.  He couldn’t think of anything else. 

He, Jim Kirk, survivor of Tarsus IV, survivor of the god damned _Kelvin disaster_ , was being felled by a stupid Vulcan with a stupid bowl cut and stupid (but kinda gorgeously huge) brown eyes that made him want to say yes to almost anything.

God fucking damn it all to hell.

Jim hastened his steps, knowing that Spock couldn’t be that far behind him, not looking where he was going until he crashed into said Vulcan not five seconds later.

“Jim,” Spock said as he caught the human by the shoulders to steady him.  “Are you okay?  Were you looking for me?”

He’d been caught.

“Let’s get this over with,” he grumbled, jerking free of Spock’s grip and trudging past the Vulcan in the direction of their houses.

Spock attempted to make conversation with him as they walked, hesitantly asking him about his favorite book as though afraid he was going to offend Jim again.  Jim wasn’t exactly effusive about it, but he did answer all of Spock’s questions and even asked a few of his own.  It wasn’t as though he actually liked the Vulcan, but he was beginning to realize that they had more in common than he had first thought.

Shit, he couldn’t do this.  He couldn’t be friends with Spock.  Being friends with him would make Jim happy, and there was no such thing as happiness for someone like him.  He just needed to get through the next hour or so without getting his hopes up, and then things could go back to how they were supposed to be.

Amanda greeted them at the door as they walked up to the house, smiling in what he thought to be delight when she noticed that Jim was there too.  “Hello, Jim,” she said softly.  “I’m glad you could make it.”

Jim didn’t know what it was but he just couldn’t act like a complete ass after being welcomed into her home so warmly.  “Thank you for inviting me,” he ground out, trying to sound like he actually meant it.  As an afterthought, he added, “Ma’am.”

Amanda laughed.  “You can call me Amanda, dear,” she assured him.  “I’ve never liked being called ‘ma’am’,” she confided.  “I’m not a formal person, so it really doesn’t suit me.”

Jim had to agree with her there.  It really _didn’t_ suit her.

He nodded his assent.

“Come this way,” she told Jim cheerily, ushering him toward the kitchen.  “I have cookies and hot chocolate for you, Jim, and tea for Spock.”  Amanda immediately pushed him into a chair upon entering the kitchen.  “Sit down, you two.  I’ll get everything set up.”

Jim looked at Spock questioningly, wondering if it was really all right to let his mother do all of the work.  The Vulcan nodded in affirmation, leaning closer to Jim to say, “I find it best to simply do as she asks.  It is easier for all involved.”

Amanda bustled around the kitchen, pulling the foil off of a plate of sugar cookies and setting them on the table before preparing the drinks.  She set out three identical mugs on the counter, one of which was filled to the brim with steaming hot tea from the kettle.  The contents of a sauce pan on the stove were poured into the remaining two mugs, both of which were then topped off with three small marshmallows and a dollop of whipped cream each.

She picked up two of the drinks and placed them in front of Jim and Spock before grabbing her own.  “Now, before you partake, I should warn you that the cookies contain soy and the cocoa was made with cashew milk.  I didn’t think to tell you about the possible allergens in the last batch of cookies I gave you, so I hope you didn’t suffer any negative side effects.”

He shook his head and said slowly, “No, I was fine.  I’m allergic to peanuts, but soy and cashews are fine.  Milk actually gives me a stomachache, so this is probably better.”  He pulled the drink toward him, relishing in the warmth that was seeping into his fingers even as he felt unsure if he should ask about it.  He didn’t want to be rude, but he was curious.  Fuck it.  Spock had tried to invade every aspect of _his_ personal life.  It was time Jim returned the favor.  “Why don’t you use dairy?”

Jim turned to look at Spock, surprised when he replied instead of Amanda.  “Vulcans do not believe in the utilization of living creatures to provide us with sustenance.  Because of this, we do not consume meat, animal milk, or eggs.”

His eyes widened.  “Isn’t that hard?”

Spock tilted his head in consideration.  “I have never known another way.”

Amanda added, “Most Vulcan clans have been herbivorous for many generations by this point.  They forget that their ancestors once had diets very similar to that of humans.  When I bonded with Sarek, I did have the option of continuing to eat as I pleased, but it’s actually much easier to transition than you’d think it’d be.  There are so many options even without animal products.”  She smiled at him and reached out to pat his hand.  “If you ever want to know more about it, just let us know.  We’d be happy to discuss it with you.”

Jim nodded noncommittally didn’t really want to think about it, in all honesty.  He could barely feed himself as it was, for fuck’s sake.  Being picky about his food wasn’t going to help matters.

Speaking of food, that hot chocolate smelled amazing.

It wasn’t until he was taking his first tentative sips from his own mug that he remembered he needed to be wary.  Amanda seemed harmless, but Jim had learned from experience that even the things that appear harmless can still cause you great injury in the end.  He sniffed the cup suspiciously before realizing that he had watched Amanda prepare his drink and that she was drinking the same thing.  It smelled so good, Jim was glad to be able to put aside his misgivings so that he could taste it.

_Shit_ , Jim thought as he swallowed his first sip.  _It tastes better than it smells_.

Jim’s stomach grumbled noisily, and he remembered that he hadn’t eaten more than a cup of mandarin oranges in over two days.  His food stores were dwindling, and Jim had been rationing his food until he was able to get more.  He had been growing increasingly desperate and knew that he might have to resort to shoplifting soon.  Usually he either convinced Frank to give him some money, or he stole it from the man’s pockets after he had passed out for the night.  Lately, his step-father hadn’t been bringing in any money, and it was starting to worry Jim.  A lot.

His stomach gurgled once more, jarring him out of his thoughts.  He reached forward and grabbed one of the sugar cookies, jamming it into his mouth urgently, as though it would disappear if he didn’t get it into his stomach within five seconds.  Jim chewed very briefly before swallowing and reaching for another.

Then he noticed that both Spock and Amanda were staring at him.

Jim tried to play it off as though nothing had happened, but he knew they had noticed.  Shit.  What if they started asking questions?

“Jim,” Amanda said inquisitively.  _Here it goes_ , Jim thought, his body tensing up as he resisted the urge to flee.  “Would you like to stay for dinner?”

Jim gaped at her.  She was inviting him to dinner?  She would be willing to feed him?

It was so tempting to give in, to say yes, to do anything to have a real meal again, something he hadn’t had since before things on Tarsus had gone to shit.  He couldn’t do it though.  He had to be home before Frank.  His step-father wasn’t consistent with the times he came home, but Jim knew that he was through with work at six-thirty and it paid to be cautious.  Sometimes the man came home hours later, staying out for hours getting drunk at either Murphy’s or the Shipyard Bar, depending on which one he was banned from at the time.  Sometimes he came home right after work, sat down on the couch and got drunk while watching whatever game was on TV at the time.  On rare occasions, Frank came home early from work and if Jim wasn’t in his room by the time that happened, the beatings seemed to double in intensity.  Jim figured the man just liked to fuck with him, so it was better safe than sorry where he was concerned.

“I can’t,” Jim replied reluctantly.  “I have to be home by six.”

Amanda looked disappointed, and though there was no outward change in his facial features, Jim thought that Spock was a little bit upset about it too.  “Oh, well, maybe tomorrow then?”  She looked at him hopefully.  “I’ll let you in on a little secret.  Though he tries to pretend he isn’t, Spock is inordinately fond of pizza.  If you come over tomorrow, I can have everything ready so that all we have to do is put it in the oven to cook.”

Jim tried not to drool at the thought of fresh pizza.  God, it had been so long.  He found himself nodding without thinking.  “Yes, please,” he replied hoarsely, his throat suddenly going dry.

Amanda smiled, and even Spock’s face seemed to lose some of its former tension.  “Good.”  She nodded thoughtfully.  “Now drink your hot chocolate before it gets cold.”

Jim brought the mug to his lips and took a sip.  Although it was a bit cooler, it was still delicious.  Jim looked over at Spock and wondered…

“Hey Spock,” he mused.  “Why aren’t you drinking hot chocolate too?  It’s really good; I can’t imagine anyone not liking it.”

Amanda sent him a grin of thanks for the praise while Spock looked at him uncomfortably.  “Vulcans have an adverse reaction to chocolate,” Spock divulged.  “And cinnamon,” he added as an afterthought.  “It is best if we simply avoid them altogether.”

Jim cocked his head.  “What’s it do to you?” he asked curiously.

Spock just stared at him for a moment, and if Jim didn’t know better, he would think that it was embarrassment he saw in the Vulcan’s eyes.  He was surprised to find that it bothered him that Spock might feel that way.  Jim didn’t want to like Spock, but for some reason, he did, and it bothered him that the Vulcan may feel that he was unable to speak freely in front of him.

_Fuck_ , he swore internally.  _What the hell is wrong with me?_

“Now, Spock,” Amanda said, interrupting their staring contest.  “There’s no need to be uncomfortable.”  Her eyes twinkled mischievously.  “Chocolate is to Vulcans what alcohol is to humans.  It’s a simple intoxicant that makes them more touchy feely and emotional than they are normally.  Cinnamon works as an aphrodisiac.  I didn’t believe that one myself until…”

“Mother,” Spock cut in, a note of pleading in his voice.  “ _Please_ don’t go there.”

Jim looked back and forth between them, his gaze not knowing which one to land on before he finally just closed his eyes and threw his head back in the first genuine laugh that had escaped him in over two years.  The sound startled him, choking off almost before it could come out.  His eyes widened as he realized what was happening, but by that time Amanda was laughing too and Spock’s eyes were sparking with a mixture of joy and another emotion he could not name, and Jim found that he was unable to resist.

Jim let himself laugh, and—just a little bit—allowed himself to hope.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really hope you guys enjoyed this chapter. Please let me know what you think. XD


	8. A Plan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> …he started to concoct a plan…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another chapter within two weeks. I’m on a roll. XD This chapter is still a lot fluffier than the rest of the story, but we’re going to get back to the usual soon. Enjoy the happy times while they last. :)
> 
> Oh, and this chapter has not been beta’d at all (which is a first for me). I’m just too impatient to wait the three days it’ll probably take my beta to get this back to me. If you guys find any errors or inconsistencies, please let me know. Just don’t look too hard for them… :P
> 
> Edit 10/17/2015: I made several changes to this chapter due to the change in Jim's birthday. I also had to incorporate their winter break in there, so some of the paragraphs had to be reworked so that school didn't come into it.

The people of Riverside were very fond of gossip.  As Spock’s mother had attempted to explain, it was a small town, and there was very little the humans could do to amuse themselves.  In Spock’s opinion, that did not make it excusable.

Especially when the particular objects of fascination—for the current standard Earth week at least—were Jim and Spock.

“Did you hear?!?  That Vulcan is hanging out with the Kirk boy?”

“The Kirk boy?  Jim Kirk?  What would a Vulcan want with a no good delinquent?”

Spock stopped walking and looked over to assess the two people who were blatantly violating his and Jim’s privacy.  Two women were standing across the street from him outside the corner pharmacy.  They didn’t notice his stare for several moments, but when they did they immediately lowered their voices as though it would keep him from hearing them.

“You don’t think…  He didn’t hear us, did he?” the younger woman said in hushed tones.

“Don’t be silly,” her white-haired companion whispered back.  “He’s all the way over there.”

Spock just raised one eyebrow at them, causing them to hurry back inside the shop.

Of course he could hear them.  Spock was a Vulcan, and Vulcan hearing was decidedly superior to that of a human being.  While this was usually an asset, Spock could not help but wish that he could turn it off on occasions such as this.

It had started out as a simple grocery run for his mother, but every human he passed was talking, whispering about him and Jim and the amount of time they now spent together.

Spock didn’t care what they said about him, but what they said about Jim was sometimes extremely insulting.  Spock was just glad that Jim didn’t have the ability to hear them as he did.

“Spock?” Jim inquired, having to backtrack as he had continued walking when Spock had stopped.  “What’s wrong?”

“It is nothing, Jim,” Spock replied, turning toward the human.  “Let us return with the food so that my mother can begin dinner.  I am sure she is waiting for us.”

Jim just glared at him suspiciously for a moment before spinning on his heel and continuing toward the house.

Despite the commencement of winter break, Jim had been joining Amanda and Spock for dinner most nights in the eighteen days since he had come over for cocoa, and though he seemed more comfortable with it now, he had not originally been the most gracious of guests.

It had been what Spock now considered to be their first day of actual (and tentatively acknowledged) friendship.   Spock had been walking Jim home from school on the last day of the semester when the human had stopped him and pushed him up against a nearby tree, holding him there by one shoulder.  The Vulcan had known he could easily break Jim’s hold, but he had thought it better to let his _t’hy’la_ “release some steam”, as the humans said.

“Look, Spock, I don’t trust you, okay?”  Spock’s eyes widened.  He had been and was still _hurt_ by Jim’s declaration.  It pained him to know that his _t’hy’la_ , the one person who he would always drop everything for, no matter what the circumstances, viewed him from a place of mistrust.  “But your mom’s really nice, and maybe hanging out with you will get me an actual meal once in a while, so that’s fine.  I want you to know though, if you screw me over, Vulcan or not, I will find a way to make you pay for it.”

Though he usually made an effort to hide any emotions his voice conveyed, Spock had long since come to the conclusion that doing so when speaking with Jim would only hamper his attempts to form a relationship with his human, and so, at the time, covering up his shock had been the last thing on his mind.  Spock had been startled and his voice reflected it when he spoke.  “In what way could I possibly ‘screw you over’?”

Jim scoffed.  “Let’s see,” he told Spock, pretending to think about it.  “You could drug me; you could rape me; you could kidnap me; you could beat me.”  He paused and glared at Spock.  “Do I really need to go on?  I’ve seen worse things done to better people, and if you and your family think you’re getting one over on me, you’re shitting yourselves.”

“Jim,” Spock said, not really knowing how to reply.  While he had known that Jim had seen some terrible things, Spock had not been aware of how extensive and how horrible those things were.  “My family and I are not capable of the acts you describe.”

“Why don’t I believe you?” Jim retorted.

“Vulcans do not lie, Jim,” Spock replied.  “Although, as I am attempting to be honest with you, I feel I must mention that we do sometimes spin the truth to reflect positively in our favor.  That is a closely guarded secret, however, so please do not speak of it with anyone besides myself.”

Jim had just given him an unfathomable look and used Spock’s shoulder to push himself backward so that they could keep walking, making sure to leave at least five feet of space between them at all times.

That distance had narrowed significantly since then, and Spock had found that their friendship was becoming more like what he craved when he thought of Jim.  It was not even close to being romantic as of yet, but it was almost like a real friendship. 

Before the semester had ended, they had been walking to school together every morning, talking, and eating both lunch and dinner together.  After the second day of sitting with Jim for lunch, and noticing once again that the human refused to eat, Spock also began bringing Jim a packed lunch along with his own.  Jim had been reluctant to accept the lunch on the first day, but after ten minutes of it just sitting on the table, Jim had finally pulled it toward him and inspected it suspiciously.  He had glared at it for a moment before slowly opening the brown paper bag (which Spock had used at his mother’s insistence) and peering inside.  When Jim had reached in, grabbed the sandwich, unwrapped it, and took a bite, Spock felt a surge of joyful vindication surge through him.

Spock had felt an even keener sense of triumph when Jim agreed to continue having lunch after the semester had ended.  Spock had been inventing errands as an excuse to see Jim now that school was no longer in session.  After the first few times, Jim had scowled at him and said that if he wanted to have lunch with him, Spock didn’t need to “make shit up” to get him to go.  Spock was gratified despite the failure of his deception because each meal they shared allowed him to learn more about his _t’hy’la_ than he ever could have through scientific observation. Though he was aware that Jim was more likely reacting to the food rather than his company, Spock still saw this small step forward for the significant progress that it was. 

And when he had noticed a few days later that Jim had begun to gain weight, he was almost visibly excited.

Jim jabbed Spock in the side with his elbow, drawing him out of his reverie.  “Hey Spock,” he started slowly, as though unsure as to whether he actually wanted to initiate conversation.  “What was that back there?  You’ve never…”  Jim hesitated, and then corrected himself.  “I mean, I’ve never seen you get upset about anything.  What did those women… well, did they do something to you?”

Spock did not know how he should reply.  He did not wish for Jim to know how the people in Riverside viewed him.  Though it was likely he already knew, Spock was sure that having it stated explicitly would in no way improve their relationship, and though his _t’hy’la_ would be more likely to show anger than hurt, he knew that hearing such a thing would upset Jim.

However, he had also recently professed to Jim that Vulcans did not lie, and so, he could not in good conscience do so now.

After precisely 1.6836 minutes of pondering this conundrum, Spock chose his words very carefully.  “Humans often forget the acuity of Vulcan senses.  My ability to perceive sounds is much greater when compared to that of the average human.  Though they seemed to be unaware of the fact they were within sufficient distance for me to overhear their conversation, it still remains true that I did overhear and that I did take exception to it.”

“What did they say?” Jim asked.

Spock had been hoping that Jim would not ask this particular question.  He really did not wish to lie to him, and so he found himself telling a version of the truth.  “They were speaking ill of someone very close to me, and I was unable to curb my reaction.”

Jim was smarter than most people gave him credit for, and Spock knew that he could probably “read between the lines”, as his mother would say.  Jim didn’t anything about it though, just hefted the grocery bags he was carrying from one hand to the other and kept walking.

Spock followed behind him at a slightly more sedate pace, knowing what would be waiting for them when they arrived at his house, and though Jim did not see it, there was the ghost of a smile tugging at his lips.

 

* * *

 

 

Jim hated January 4th.  In his opinion, it was the shittiest day out of the shit pile that was his year.  January 4th was the most recent and well known date taught in history classes.  January 4th was the day of the Kelvin disaster.  January 4th was the day his father had given himself up as a god damned martyr.  And least importantly, January 4th was the day James Tiberius Kirk had been forcefully shoved into his miserable existence.

Not that anyone actually acknowledged the fact that it was his birthday.  All day long it had been Kelvin this, Kelvin that, wasn’t George Kirk a great man, yeah, my uncle wouldn’t even be alive without him, blah, blah, blah.

School was starting again tomorrow, and Jim had no doubt that there would be the usual mandatory fifteen minutes of silence at the beginning of first period to be used “to reflect on and remember the victims of the Kelvin disaster and to reminisce on the sacrifice of the hero George Kirk”.  Jim remembered being yelled at one year for snorting in response to that, prompting his teacher to scold him for “not giving his father the respect he deserved” after the period of silence had come to an end.

Happy fucking birthday to him.

Though he wouldn’t admit it, Jim had been looking forward to getting to Spock’s house since he had gotten up that morning.  Sure, he wasn’t the Vulcan’s biggest fan, but at least Spock and his mother would treat him like an actual person instead of like the unwanted son of George Kirk.  Most people didn’t exactly hide the fact that they didn’t think he deserved the life his father’s sacrifice had given him, and occasionally it was nice to not be looked at as though he were better off dead.

It had kinda pissed him off when Amanda had called, said that she needed something from the store, and asked if they could please get it for her after they were done with another one of Spock’s bogus errands (which were still a thing despite the many times he had told Spock to stop making shit up).  Like hell did he want to go to the fucking grocery store on today of all days; it’d be like throwing himself to the wolves.  But he couldn’t complain about it either.  Amanda had been so nice to him, and so far, she hadn’t poisoned him.  Being a dick just because he didn’t want to hear all of the things people were going to say about him whether he was there or not wasn’t really something he could do.

So instead he sighed and tagged along behind Spock while they purchased Amanda’s two gallons of non-dairy milk substitute (which somehow actually tasted _better_ than real milk), pound of 70% dark chocolate (she used it to make their hot chocolate), loaf of bread (for he and Spock’s lunches), and two boxes of soy butter. 

Jim was really fucking tired of all the stares by the time they finally dragged it all out of the store.  He was just about to cross the line into seriously pissed off when he realized that Spock wasn’t beside him anymore.  Jim looked back and saw that the Vulcan was glaring across the street at a couple of gossipy old hags who, judging by the looks they were giving them, were definitely talking about him and Spock.

He was taken aback.  Jim knew he had never seen Spock show so much emotion on his face.  Whatever those women were saying, it was really upsetting Spock.  It must not be about him then; there was no way _he_ could ever cause a Vulcan to lose that mask of stoicism.

A few minutes later when Spock said that they were “speaking ill of someone very close to him”, Jim couldn’t help but wonder again.  He couldn’t imagine someone saying anything bad about Amanda, and he was pretty sure no one would have the balls to badmouth the Vulcan’s father (Jim had heard stories about him).  Spock wouldn’t get that upset about something that involved himself, and besides, he had specifically said “someone very close to him”.  Spock didn’t have any other friends, so it was very possible that he meant Jim.

Jim decided not to say anything about it.  Sure he had his suspicions, but sometimes he got the feeling that Spock actually _liked_ him.  While he didn’t care one way or the other whether Spock liked him or not, Jim didn’t really want to prove himself wrong just yet.  Not today anyway.  Birthdays were bad enough even when he didn’t take extra steps to prove that the whole fucking world really did hate him.

When he got to the door at Spock’s place, Jim started to go inside before noticing that Spock was still several paces behind him.  He turned around and watched the Vulcan approach before doing a double take.  For a moment, he had almost thought he saw a smile on Spock’s lips, but when he got closer, Jim realized that it must have been some kind of fucked up trick of the light or something.  Spock didn’t smile (well, apart from that one time, but Jim did _not_ think about that), so it was impossible that he was smiling now.

Unless…

What did he know that Jim didn’t?

When Spock finally dragged his slow ass up the front steps, Jim finally turned around and entered the house.  Once inside, he couldn’t stop his jaw from hitting the floor.

There was a hand-painted banner strung from one side of the entranceway to the other that read “Happy 15th Birthday, Jim!”  Underneath the banner were Amanda and an older Vulcan who Jim deduced must be Spock’s father.  He didn’t move forward to greet them.  He couldn’t move.  Jim Kirk was in shock.

“Jim?” Spock tried to get his attention, but Jim could draw his eyes away from the banner.  They had thrown him a birthday party.  They had thrown _him_ a fucking _birthday party_.

“Jim,” Amanda said, smiling warmly at him.  “Happy birthday.”

Jim could only nod, a lump forming in his throat.  Nobody had ever thrown him a party before.  In fact, most people were so caught up in the fact that the day was apparently supposed to be a day of mourning that nobody gave a damn about him enough to even wish him a happy birthday.  Fuckers.  He hadn’t needed them anyway, and he hadn’t needed any stupid birthday wishes either.

Even so, Jim had to admit that being acknowledged was… nice.

“You…” Jim started, looking at Amanda.  “This is for me?”

Spock’s mother just grinned at him.  “Yes.  It was all Spock’s idea.”

Jim turned to Spock.  “I’ve never had a birthday party before.” 

Fuck, he supposed he should show a little gratitude.  After all, the guy had gone out of his way to do something for him.  He squashed down the part of him that was screaming at him to run because things that seemed to good to be true always were (and Spock was definitely too good to be true) and that the times when life eases up a little are the times to be most cautious because every god damned piece of shit it dropped on him just feels so much heavier when he wasn’t used to it anymore.  For now, he was just going to put all of those issues aside and enjoy his fucking party.

“Thank you, Spock.”  He had to push the words past gritted teeth, but at least he had said them.

Spock just inclined his head to acknowledge his words.  “Jim,” he said.  “This is my father, Sarek.”  He gestured to the older Vulcan.

This was the first time Jim had met Spock’s father.  According to Spock, Sarek had been away at a diplomatic function for the past two weeks.  Jim hadn’t really cared one way or another, but now, he couldn’t help but feel nervous about meeting Sarek.  Sarek was, in Jim’s humble opinion, much more intimidating than Spock could ever hope to be.

Jim held out his hand.  “It’s, uh, nice to meet you… sir,” he added belatedly.

Spock sucked in a breath, and Amanda laughed, stepping forward to push his hand down.  “Vulcans don’t shake hands, Jim.”

Jim looked at her in confusion before turning to stare at Spock.  “You don’t?”  When Spock simply nodded in affirmation, Jim demanded, “Why not?”

“Vulcans are touch telepaths.  For a Vulcan, the hands are the means by which we direct our psychic abilities, and so, are very sensitive to contact.”  Spock paused for a moment in thought before adding.  “They are also considered an erogenous zone.  Vulcans kiss with their hands.”

Jim couldn’t prevent his face from flooding with color.  “So I just tried to…”

“Kiss my father.  Yes.”

Jim would swear that somewhere behind that stupidly blank face the bastard was laughing at him.

“I do not take offense, Jim,” Sarek spoke for the first time.  “You are unaware of our culture and our biological differences.”

“Thank you, sir,” Jim said because he didn’t know what else he _could_ say.

“You may call me Sarek.”

“Well,” Amanda said, her hands coming together with a slap as she diffused the somewhat awkward atmosphere.  “Jim, why don’t you and Spock go sit down in the dining room while Sarek and I grab the meal from the kitchen.”  She looked down and saw the bags they were still holding.  “Spock, do you mind putting the groceries away?”

Spock gently removed the bags from Jim’s frozen hands, obviously being very careful not to even graze Jim’s fingers with his own.  As Jim walked dazedly into the dining room, he ruthlessly and unsuccessfully tried to suppress the disappointment.

 

* * *

  

They were having spaghetti for dinner.  Overall the meal wasn’t all that exciting, and though Jim had never had vegan spaghetti, he wasn’t exactly picky about his food as long as he knew he could trust it not to be poisoned.  It didn’t hurt that Amanda was an amazing cook.  Seriously, it seemed to Jim that everything she concocted almost made him want to cry and caused him to fervently wish that she were his mother instead of Winona.

Sarek didn’t say much over the course of the meal.  He and Amanda didn’t seem to _need_ words to communicate—Jim wasn’t sure whether it was a result of the fact that they had been married for a while or if there was more Vulcan mind voodoo going on—and whatever he and Spock usually talked about did not seem to be stuff they wanted to talk about at the dinner table.  Or maybe they just didn’t want to talk about it in front of him.  Whatever it was, Jim just knew that it was making for two silent Vulcans with him and Amanda doing most of the talking.

 _Typical,_ he thought.  Spock wasn’t much of a conversationalist under normal circumstances, so he didn’t know why he was surprised that that seemed to be a family trait.  Or it could be a Vulcan thing.  Jim didn’t really know or care.

Sarek finally spoke about halfway through dinner.  “Spock, I believe your _t’hy’la_ has an empty glass.  It is only polite for you to refill it for him.”

The rest of the table froze, though Jim did not understand why.  “What is _t’hy’la_?” he wondered aloud, looking between the other occupants of the room.  Sarek was looking contrite (though Jim thought it looked a bit forced), Amanda was stifling a giggle behind one hand (she was totally in on it, whatever it was), and was it just him, or was Spock turning green?  “Spock, are you…”

“I will retrieve the soy milk from the kitchen.  It will only take me a moment, Jim.”  And before Jim could say another word, Spock was out of his seat and hurrying into the kitchen.

It took Jim a minute to realize that Spock hadn’t answered his question.

A moment later, he was back with the gallon of milk.  Spock topped off each person’s glass before darting quickly back into the kitchen to return it to the refrigerator.

“Amanda,” Jim started, trying to take advantage of Spock’s absence while he could.  “What does _t’hy’la_ mean?”

“It has many meanings, Jim,” she replied, still looking somewhat mischievous.  “It’s most common meaning is ‘friend’, but it can also mean…”

“Mother,” Spock interrupted—and if Jim weren’t already sure that something fishy was going on, Spock interrupting Amanda would have done it.  “As we have all completed the main course, would you like me to bring the cake to the table?”

Amanda didn’t look as though she was fooled for one second by Spock’s attempts to redirect the conversation, but she allowed herself to be distracted.  “Yes, of course.  Sarek, if you could help me clear the table.”  She rose from her seat and grabbed Jim’s plate as well as her own.

“What can I do?” Jim started to get up as well, feeling awkward about having them do all the work.

Amanda just smiled at him.  “You can sit back down, Jim.  You’re the birthday boy,” she explained.  “You aren’t allowed to do any work at your own party.”

The next fifteen minutes were a whirl of singing (surprisingly on key) and blowing out candles (it took him three tries during which time he vehemently refused to let himself make a wish) and cake (vanilla with buttercream frosting and absolutely delicious, of course), all things that Jim had never experienced firsthand.

Jim was feeling completely overwhelmed by the time they brought out the presents.  Actual presents.

While there were a lot of things that had thrown him tonight, the presents were worse than anything that had come before them.  Jim had never—not even once in his life—received a present for his birthday.  And now they were each just fucking giving him one like it was an everyday occurrence.

His mother _had_ given him presents before, but it had never been for a good reason.  When he was younger, she had felt guilty for being such a horrible parent.  She gave him one or two things a year to make up for not being home.  He never got presents on Christmas and his birthday of course (too many bad memories for her), but those small gifts were enough to at least allow himself to pretend she cared.

After Sam left and he got sent to Tarsus, she had stopped trying.  He assumed that her line of reasoning for that went along the lines of “if he’s not going to behave, I don’t have to feel guilty because he’s not trying either”.

The point was Jim had never gotten birthday presents, and getting them now was kinda choking him up a bit.

At her insistence, he took Amanda’s first.  He ran his fingers almost reverently over the wrapping before finally tearing into the paper.  Inside was a white box that contained…

Oh wow, she had gotten him a jacket.  A syntho-leather jacket.  The coat was black with several pockets, a front zip, and an amazingly silky interior.  God, how had she known?  The last few months had been freezing, and Jim hadn’t gotten a new jacket in years.  This one in particular was nicer than anything he had ever owned, and he wanted it so badly.

He couldn’t accept it though.  It was too much.  He had to give it back.

“Amanda…” he started.

“Now, Jim, don’t even think about trying to give that back to me,” she scolded gently.  “The sale was final, so if you don’t take it, what am I supposed to do with it?  It wouldn’t fit Spock or Sarek, and it would just look silly on me.  And don’t think I haven’t noticed you shivering when you walk in here for dinner.”

She looked as though she wanted to continue, but before she could, Sarek interjected, “Jim, it would be easier on all of us if you took the gift.  If you do not, she will continue her attempts to persuade until you do.”  Jim was about to protest, but he just shook his head and said, “I have many years of experience with my wife.  It is much less problematic to simply do as she says.”

 _Fuck it_ , Jim thought.  _This winter has been fucking brutal._   “Thank you, Amanda.”

Amanda beamed at him, and Spock stepped forward, his own present for Jim proffered in his hand.  Jim set the leather jacket and its box down on the table before taking Spock’s gift.  He tore back the wrappings before staring in shock at the object in his hands.

It was a book, and honest to god book with pages.  Jim had only seen a real book one time in his life, and he had never touched one.  But now, he was holding one with his own hands.  It was... fucking awesome.

Hard copies of books were very hard to find in the twenty-third century.  They had been replaced by digital copies over two hundred years ago.  The reprinting of books had eventually dwindled and then disappeared altogether, and up until the turn of the century, people had done nothing to restore the old copies of books they already had.  These days, books were extremely expensive, and this book in particular must have cost a fortune.

It was a Sherlock Holmes novel.  _The Sign of Four_ was the title embossed on the front cover.  Jim had heard of Sherlock Holmes in his literature class, but he had never had the chance to read any of the great detective’s adventures.  Jim had always had a liking for reading, but he had always been limited to textbooks and whatever books were assigned for school.  Having the opportunity to read a Sherlock Holmes novel—and not just the digitized version, but the actual novel itself—was the greatest gift anyone could have given him.

And once again, he couldn’t accept.

“Spock, I can’t take this.  It must have cost a fortune.”

“On the contrary, Jim, it did not cost me anything,” Spock disagreed.  “I have been in possession of that book since my mother gave it to me when I was a child.  I have read it countless times since then.  It is my favorite, and because it is my favorite, I would like to share it with you.”

Jim just stared at him, completely speechless.  Spock had just given him his most prized possession.  Spock had just given him a _book_.  One word went around and around in Jim’s head: _Why?_

 

* * *

  

Jim was still in a daze when he left Spock’s house an hour later, his book and his new jacket safely tucked away in his backpack.  It wasn’t until he reached his own house and entered through the front door that he realized what time it was.

It was after seven o’clock.  Frank was home, and he was waiting for Jim.

Fuck, he should have known the bastard would be home early today.  Jim’s birthday was an unpleasant day for everyone in Jim’s life, even Frank.  While Winona had always been reminded of her husband’s death, Frank had always been reminded of the fact that he wasn’t George Kirk and that Winona had only married him so that he could be a glorified baby sitter.  If Frank hadn’t been such a dickwad, Jim might have actually felt sorry for him.

Unfortunately for Jim, being reminded of that fact made Frank even more pissed off than usual.  “Where the fuck have you been, boy?” Frank snarled.  “You don’t get to walk in here at all hours of the night.  Come here.”  He grabbed Jim roughly by the arm and dragged him into the house. 

 

* * *

 

 

Spock was feeling strangely satisfied in the aftermath of Jim’s birthday dinner.  Even as he assisted his parents in their efforts to clean up, he was recollecting the manner in which Jim’s face had brightened when he had opened Spock’s present, and how the human had looked at him with a look that completely free of all of the wariness that usually tainted it.  It made him happy, he realized, to see Jim look at him like that.

Overall, the evening had gone very well.  The only problem that Spock could see was his father intentionally referring to Jim as his _t’hy’la_ while in the human’s presence.  Sarek had to have known that Jim would begin to ask questions, and considering the way his own interference had made it look as though he was hiding things, Spock knew that Jim would most likely start asking those questions soon.

He needed to know.  He needed to know why his father would do such a thing.

“Father,” Spock said.  “Why did you inform Jim of the fact that we are _t’hy’la_?  I chose not to inform him because he is human and I did not want to ‘freak him out’.”

Sarek stopped drying the dishes and turned to him.  “Spock, I too fell in love with a human, and while your mother and I are not _t’hy’la,_ I did have to explain certain cultural and biological aspects of our race.  In your case, I believe it would be better if he came to you with his questions rather than relying upon you to tell him.”

“It’s really my fault, Spock,” Amanda admitted.  “I know you, and I know that you would end up not saying anything about it until the last possible moment.  You wouldn’t have done it on purpose, but Jim would still end up being hurt by it if everything turned out that way.  So I asked your father what we should do about it.  I didn’t quite know it would turn out this way,” She sent Sarek a reproving look.  “But I think it’s probably for the best.”

“He will be able to come to you with questions when he is ready,” Sarek added.  “I believe you will find this to be the more advantageous position.”

Spock did not know if he agreed with his father, but he had much to think about before he could make a decision one way or another.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading. I hope you all enjoyed it. :) Please let me know what you think.


	9. The Feelings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> …to get her to return the feelings that he had…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay! Yet another new chapter, and we are making progress. Just so all of my readers know, I’ve decided to set myself a deadline. I want to have this story finished by the time the new movie comes out. Not sure if I’ll be able to meet that deadline—I’m graduating next semester so things will probably be hectic—but I’ll do my best.
> 
> Anyway, this chapter is like a celebration for the end of final exams and the beginning of Christmas break. Hoorah! XD  
> Oh, and if you guys like this story, please go read my new story RocketMan. As an added incentive, I’m working on the next chapter right now, so it should be updated soon. :)
> 
> Thank you to my beta, delu, who took time out of studying for her final exams to beta this.

Jim knew that he was dreaming.  He didn’t know how he knew, but he did.

He was huddled on the floor of the living room, and he wasn’t alone.  Frank was there, and as soon as the dream started, he was laying into Jim.  “Worthless piece of shit,” he grunted as he kicked Jim in stomach.  Jim hunched over even further, regretting it a moment later when he received a blow to the back of the head.

 _Stupid, stupid!_ he scolded himself.  _Never leave your head exposed like that, you fucking idiot._   He tucked his head into his chest and covered it with his arms as Frank continued to kick the shit out of him.

The whole thing was fucking surreal.  Not the getting beat up part, because that happened regularly enough for it to be considered normal, but the fact that Jim knew exactly what blows were going to hit him and where they were going to land.  He couldn’t place it for a moment, but then something seemed to snap into place and he remembered.  He knew that the actual beating had taken place eight days ago on his fifteenth birthday, and it had been particularly memorable because his extensive injuries had caused Spock to become suspicious and start questioning him.  He knew that even as he was dreaming about that stupid asshole hitting him, the bruises on his real body were already in the process of healing. 

Frank couldn’t hurt him in here. 

Even as he told himself that, he felt the man’s fist thump against his back, felt the blood vessels breaking, the bruises forming, his step-father still muttering profanities under his breath.  “Look at you,” Jim froze, not even daring to breathe as another voice joined the sound of Frank’s cussing.  He looked up and met his mother’s cold eyes.  “You are a pitiful excuse for a human being.”  She crouched down next to him, completely ignoring her husband who had stopped to grab his bottle and take another swig.  Jim cringed, knowing that pieces of that bottle would soon be embedded in his skin.  “He wouldn’t have died if I hadn’t been pregnant with you, Jim,” she hissed at him.  “I wish you had never been born.  You don’t deserve to be alive.  You are the reason he’s dead.”

Jim squeezed his eyes shut and told himself that it wasn’t really her.  She had never said anything like that to his face before, but he had always known that she was thinking it.  He could see it in her eyes ever time she looked at him, and while it had hurt to be aware of what she was thinking, he had never imagined that hearing her say it to his face would hurt even more.

He felt a hand pass gently over his hair and couldn’t resist the urge to look up.  Neither his mother nor his step-father would be so gentle, so who…?

It was Sam as he had last seen him over two years ago, and Jim had to ask; he had to know.  “Why, Sam?”

His brother smiled sadly.  “I couldn’t handle living with Frank anymore, Jimmy,” Sam looked at him and read the question in his eyes before he could open his mouth.  “And you weren’t worth it.”

Jim stared at him, a cacophony of anguished thoughts rampaging through his mind.  He wasn’t worth it.  He wasn’t worth staying for.  He wasn’t worth protecting.  He wasn’t worth loving.

A bottle smashed against Jim’s back as Frank finally rejoined the fray.  Jim cried out as shards of glass buried themselves into his flesh.  He had later considered himself very lucky that none of the pieces had hit anything vital, but now, reliving it in his dreams, Jim could only remember how much it hurt.

Frank didn’t react to Jim’s cry of pain; he just kicked Jim again while the rest of Jim’s broken family watched and did nothing.

And then Spock was there, sending Frank unconscious to the ground with a well-placed pinch to the neck.  He ignored Sam and Winona as he dropped to his knees next to Jim.

“Spock, what are you doing here?” he asked before grimacing and spitting out a glob of blood.  Jim wasn’t really surprised to see Spock there—he had been having a lot of dreams that involved the Vulcan bastard lately—but even so, he still felt compelled to ask.

Spock tilted his head in that (absolutely fucking adorable) way he had.  “I am not actually here, Jim.  You are dreaming.”

Jim ignored Spock’s logical answer.  He tried to prop himself up, but his arms were shaking and he couldn’t seem to stop it.  Seeing how Jim was struggling, Spock reached out to help him sit up, but the moment they touched, Jim found himself back in his bed.

 _Damn,_ Jim thought.  _I must be going insane or something._   As if it wasn’t bad enough in real life, even his dreams were starting to feature Spock as his knight in shining armor.  Jim shook his head and pulled himself out of bed.  He winced as the movement pulled at his healing cuts and made his bruises twinge, but he wanted to write his dream down before he started to forget the details, so he continued, reaching over to grab his notebook and pen from their hiding place.  Jim didn’t know why he had started writing down all of his dreams that involved Spock, but the more dreams he had, the more important it seemed to be.

Jim didn’t get it.  Why the fuck was he having dreams about Spock in the first place?  Sure, they were somewhere between friends and acquaintances at the moment, and Jim had finally come to terms with the fact that he was attracted to the Vulcan, but if he was going to be having dreams about Spock , he would have expected and even preferred them to be wet dreams.  It wasn’t that he didn’t get those kinds of dreams, but usually he had angsty, almost-nightmares and post traumatic stress type dreams (which were usually variations of actual memories) from which Spock always had to save him.  I didn’t make a bit of sense to Jim.  Was his mind trying to tell him something?

Jim sighed as he finished transcribing what he recalled of his dream.  He was tired and needed to get back to sleep.  He put his notebook back into its spot between his mattress and his bed frame and stretched back out on the bed so that he could do just that.

He was asleep a few minutes later.

 

* * *

 

 

Spock woke up the next morning and found that it was once again necessary for him to wash his sheets and pajamas.  Since his partial bonding with Jim, the frequency of Spock’s nocturnal emissions had increased from none to one in every 1.2486 nights.  He had been quite worried about it at first, until his mother had noticed that Spock’s weekly load of laundry had become a daily load of laundry.  His father, obviously having been coerced by his mother, had taken him aside so that they could have a conversation that, even days later, still made the tips of Spock’s ears turn green.

“Spock.”  Sarek had hesitated for several long moments as though gathering his thoughts.

“Yes, Father,” Spock had replied, attempting to break a silence that even a Vulcan could tell was awkward.

“Your mother has brought it to my attention that you have started using the laundry on an almost daily basis.”  There had been another long pause as he deliberated.  “We have discussed the possible motivations you may have for this, and Amanda felt quite certain that it is a result of something called a…”  Once again, Sarek had faltered.  “…‘Wet dream’.  As Vulcans do not dream, and therefore are incapable of these ‘wet dreams’, I have no experience with this matter, but your mother has asked me to reassure you that this was perfectly normal for human males once they reach the age of puberty.  She suggests that since you have bonded with and are sharing the dreams of a human adolescent, you are more susceptible to your…”  Sarek had looked distinctly uncomfortable, and Spock had felt his ears and cheeks, which had previously shown only a hint of green, flush completely with blood at the mere thought of what his father was suggesting.  “…physical urges than if you were bonded to a Vulcan.  She told me to remind you that you have nothing to be ashamed of, and that if you wish to talk, I, as your father, will be ‘here for you’.” 

Spock did not think he had ever felt as close to discarding the teachings of Surak as he had during that mercifully brief conversation with his father, and he had thankfully been allowed to leave after the other Vulcan had finished speaking.  Spock didn’t think he had really understood the true meaning of the word ‘awkward’ prior to that particular audience with his father, and he knew that no matter how badly he needed to talk, he would not soon relive it.

It had not taken Spock more than one dream to realize that these dreams were not like the other ones, the nightmares.  In those dreams, Spock could control his actions enough so that he could save Jim from whatever horror his mind had conjured up that night.  The nightmares were also really clear, with very few parts blurred out or indistinct.  

In the other dreams, Spock had no control; he was just there, participating, but not through his own willpower (although, he did not object either).  His and Jim’s actions in these dreams were vague.  It as though Jim knew he wanted Spock, but did not know what to do with him.  In every single one so far, Spock and Jim had spent the majority of the time kissing, and then the dream would begin to blur once they started to progress further.

After a few days, Spock realized that he had started to look forward to the dreams.  This was especially true after Jim started incorporating Vulcan kissing into them.  It seemed more fulfilling somehow, and the only hypothesis Spock could create for this was that their hands must act as the dream’s interpretation of their bond.

“Spock!” Amanda called up the stairs.  “Come down for breakfast.  You are going to be late for school if you don’t hurry.”

Spock started, realizing that he had been lost in thought since he had finished dressing for the day.  He was finding it exceedingly difficult to suppress his longing for closeness with Jim now that the urge had been awakened.  He had recently found himself losing focus for minutes at a time, which was not an ideal state for a Vulcan.

He could not afford to be thinking about intimacy with Jim when there were much more pressing matters at hand, such as the identity of the inflictor of Jim’s extensive physical injuries.  It had been bothering him since the day subsequent to Jim’s birthday 8.5693 days previous.

When Jim had joined him outside their houses, he had been covered in contusions and lacerations.  There had been a particularly nasty-looking cut on the back of Jim’s neck that appeared as though it had been in need of stitches, and he had been walking with a limp.

Though he had known that it was most likely a bad idea, Spock had decided to ask Jim what had happened.  Predictably, Jim had lashed out at him and told him that he should mind his own business.

And for all intents and purposes, Spock did as he was told.  He did not attempt to pry, but he did not try to prevent his mind from puzzling over the mystery Jim presented.  He wrote about his theories in his Observation Log—they ranged from a school bully to the high school equivalent of ‘Fight Club’ (an old movie his mother was fond of)—but each one seemed more farfetched than the last.

Spock once again tried to follow Jim without drawing undue attention to himself, but he soon found that aside from those times during which the human was out with Spock, Jim did not leave his house.  Ever.  It was most perplexing.  How could Jim be acquiring such injuries when he never left the safety of his home?

Spock finally had to resort to once more asking Jim directly.  It had been almost two weeks since Jim’s birthday, and he had made no progress in discovering who was responsible for the human’s injuries.  Spock had to know, and since observation did not seem to be producing results, he needed to enact more aggressive investigative techniques.

He had planned to slip it into the conversation in a discreet manner, but Jim seemed to have developed a talent for derailing Spock’s plans.  This instance proved to be no exception, though Spock could tell that at least this time his human had not intended to unravel his carefully thought out strategy.

They were taking their customary route home from school when Jim, having apparently decided that it was too warm, began removing his leather jacket and the threadbare sweatshirt underneath it.  As he stripped himself of the garments, Spock got a look at his neck for the first time that day and noticed the large, hand-shaped bruise completely encircling Jim’s throat.

“Jim,” Spock said as he invaded his _t’hy’la’s_ personal space.  “How did you get those bruises?”  He reach out with one hand, gesturing toward Jim’s neck, and only barely restrained the urge to move his hand a bit further and actually touch the mottled skin.

Jim was immediately defensive.  His expression flickered from worried to pained to distrustful before finally settling on infuriated.  Spock could tell that this was not going to end well.  “Look, Spock,” Jim replied, his tone angry.  “We might _loosely_ fit the definition of friends right now, but that doesn’t make my life any of your god damned business, you got that?”  Jim stepped closer and Spock couldn’t help but notice that had the human been any taller, their noses would have been touching.  “I don’t need you,” Jim declared vehemently.  “So back the fuck off!”

Jim brushed past Spock, the human’s shoulder banging into him with more force than necessary.  Spock could not react to it.  He felt as though he was frozen in place, and by the time he had regained his ability to move, Jim was out of sight.  How could he have let this happen?  They had been doing so well.

Spock made his way home slowly, his thoughts moving rapidly as he tried to understand what had just happened.  He knew that Jim’s reaction had been a defense mechanism.  It was the same one he used every time Spock tried to learn anything personal about him.  Even so, he had (irrationally) still found himself to be shocked and hurt by the words his _t’hy’la_ had thrown at him.  They had been making such progress lately that Spock had miscalculated the magnitude of Jim’s reaction to his query.  He had expected some anger, but he had been completely unprepared for Jim to once more try to kick him out of his life.

He finally arrived home 15.9374 minutes later, which was 2.4413 times longer than the average amount of time it took him to get from the spot in which Jim had left him to the front door of his house.  His mother, hearing the door open, called out, “Dinner will be done in a moment, boys.  Please come and set the table.”  She was taking a baking pan out of the oven and setting it on the stove when he walked into the kitchen.  Upon hearing him enter, she turned, a smile on her lips, obviously having intended to greet them before noticing that Spock was alone.  The corners of her mouth turned down.  “Where’s Jim?”

Spock deliberated for a moment on how to phrase his next words before deciding that simply telling her what had happened was most likely better.  “Jim is mad at me and has refused to come over for dinner tonight,” he admitted.

Amanda’s eyes narrowed, and her voice when she spoke was a warning.  “Spock…”

“Mother, you are not availed of all pertinent information,” he added hastily.  “As I am sure you have noticed, Jim has been gathering an extraordinary number of bruises.”  His mother nodded.  “It has been bothering me, but I did not wish to ask him because I knew he would be upset with me.  Unfortunately, I exhausted all of my other modes of discovering the answer without alerting Jim to the fact that I was observing him again.  I was forced to ask him directly, and I am afraid he did not take kindly to my curiosity.”

Amanda’s brow furrowed.  “What did he say?”

“He told me that it was none of my business and that I should…”  He hesitated for a moment before continuing.  “…‘back the fuck off’.”  Spock’s eyebrows drew together in frustration.  “I knew that I should not have asked, but I am fairly certain that someone was choking him, Mother.  There were hand and finger-shaped bruises around his neck.  I have to know who is hurting him.”  His head tilted in contemplation.  “At first I thought that he must be getting into fights when we are not together, but I have been monitoring his movements for the past two weeks, and he has not left his house except to go to school and come here.  I must be overlooking something, but I have no idea what it could be.  Without a direction to go in, I cannot form any plausible hypotheses, and I cannot collect any data that will allow me to help Jim.”

Amanda’s face was pensive and, if he was not mistaken, sad.  “Spock, I don’t think that Jim is getting into fights.”  His mother shook her head, her mouth drawn into a tight line as though she was afraid to say what she was thinking out loud.  She eventually continued, her words coming out slowly and regretfully, “I think Jim is being abused.”

Spock regarded her with confusion.  “I do not understand,” he finally admitted.

“I believe that Jim’s step-father, Frank, is beating him,” she clarified.

He stared at her in astonishment.  Spock had never heard of a parent beating their child.  On Vulcan, children were considered to be sacred.  While there were occasionally instances where young Vulcans engaged in altercations, he had never known of any fully grown Vulcan—and especially not a father or a mother—who would show aggression toward a child.  Had his Jim been suffering all this time at the hands of someone who was supposed to protect him?

“I don’t have any evidence to prove it, of course,” Amanda told him.  “I’ve been thinking it for a while, but without proof, I can’t do anything about it.”  She sighed.  “Poor Jim.  He survived Tarsus IV so that he could come home to this.”  His mother shook her head and turned away from him.

“Mother.”  Spock’s voice made her look back at him.  “Jim may not have had a good life so far, but I will change that.  He is my _t’hy’la_ and I will not let anyone hurt him while I am able to stop it.  I will find proof that Frank is not fit to be his parent, and we will remove him from that situation.  No matter how long it takes, I will find a way to protect him.”

Amanda looked startled for a moment at the blatant emotion in his voice, but her face soon relaxed into a gentle smile.  “I wouldn’t expect anything less from you, my son.”  She beckoned him further into the kitchen.  “Grab the plates so we can eat,” she directed.  “I’ve always found thinking a bit easier when I’m not worried about an empty stomach.”

Though he knew it had not been her intention, his mother’s words only served to remind Spock that Jim was most likely going without food that night.  With this in mind, he made a promise to himself.

As long as there was breath left in his lungs, Jim would _always_ be the most important thing to him, and Spock would _always_ find a way to save him.

 

* * *

 

 

Jim muttered curses under his breath as he entered his bedroom, slammed the door behind him, and threw himself onto his bed.  What the fuck did Spock think he was playing at?  Jim’s bruises weren’t any of his god damned business, and he knew it.  The Vulcan had asked him about it two weeks ago, and Jim had made himself _very_ clear on the matter.  Spock was supposed to keep his stupid Vulcan nose out of Jim’s business, and in exchange, Jim would let the guy keep him company and feed him.  That was it.  That was the arrangement.  There wasn’t supposed to be any personal conversations.  They talked about school and about Amanda and the rest of the time, they were silent.  Spock didn’t need to know about how he had gotten his bruises, just like Jim didn’t need to know about… well, anything regarding the Vulcan’s life, really.  Jim didn’t want to know, and he didn’t _care_.

Or did he?

Fuck, Jim didn’t know what was going on with him these days.  He knew that he shouldn’t be hanging around with Spock.  He knew that it was only going to end badly for him when Spock realized that Jim was “a completely useless, worthless piece of shit”, as his step-father had so kindly put it.  He couldn’t keep doing this to himself.  He had to stop seeing Spock, just cut himself off cold turkey.  It would be easier that way.

But it wasn’t that simple, was it?  A sharp pain lanced through his chest at the thought of not seeing Spock again, and Jim realized that he had formed an actual honest-to-fucking-god emotional attachment.  To a Vulcan.  Fuck, he was so screwed.  This was way more than he had bargained for.  It had started small, with him letting the guy walk with him, then allowing himself to be coerced into eating with his family, and letting them throw him a fucking birthday party, accepting their gifts…

And now, he found that he actually liked Spock.  Jim had even told Spock—when he was angry, no less—that he thought they “loosely fit the definition of friends”.  Add that to the physical and emotional attraction he felt towards the Vulcan and Jim knew he could find himself unable to let go if he let it go on any longer.

Jim had to cut off that line of thinking before he got in any further.  He could admit to himself that he wanted to be friends with Spock, but there was no way it was going past friendship. 

Even if he wanted to be more than friends with Spock—which he really, really didn’t—Spock would _never_ want him in return.  Jim was broken.  Between his father and Frank and Winona and Sam and Tarsus and that stupid asshole who had raped him, he was stretched too thin.  There wasn’t enough of him left to give another person; he had been torn apart and stitched back together too many times.  Nobody wanted second-hand goods, and that was what Jim was.

Spock deserved better than that.  As hard as he had tried not to, Jim had gotten to know Spock just a little bit in the past few weeks, and he knew that Spock was a good person.  The Vulcan was kind, if a bit stiff when it came to emotions, and he actually seemed to want Jim around, which was a bit of a new thing for him.  Spock _was_ a good person, and all Jim did was ruin things.  He _wouldn’t_ allow himself to ruin Spock.

He should make a clean break.  Spock would probably be curious about it—Jim had noticed that the Vulcan was _always_ curious—but eventually, he would stop trying and just accept the fact that he and Jim were no longer friends.  It had to be this way.  Jim couldn’t allow himself to develop any more emotional ties to Spock, and the only way to prevent them would be to sever all of the ties he had already formed.  He couldn’t do that if he and the Vulcan were still walking to school together, eating lunch, eating dinner, being friends.  It just wasn’t possible.  So he would let go now before it got worse.  He didn’t have a choice.

Jim’s stomach clenched painfully.  Fuck, he was hungry.  Groaning, he rolled over and reached under the bed, his hand finding…

Jim leapt off the bed, getting down on his knees to peer underneath.  Fuck, he was out of food.  He thought back and realized that he had eaten his last can of food _weeks_ ago and just hadn’t realized because he had been getting regular meals from Amanda and Spock. 

Shit, he had begun to depend on those meals.  So much so, in fact, that he had stopped shoplifting cans of food from the local grocery store when Frank sent him out each week with a twenty and a backhand slap across the face.

The really fucked up part was that now that Jim knew he didn’t have to steal his food and eat meager amounts every night, he couldn’t quite bring himself to go back to living that way.  He had another option now, and he wasn’t ready to give up on Amanda’s cooking even if eating said cooking brought him into contact with Spock.

Jim let the options war against each other in his head.  Food versus Spock.  On the one hand, he really, really didn’t want to go back to being hungry all the time.  On the other hand, he really, _really_ shouldn’t let himself be friends with Spock anymore, in spite of (and maybe because of) the fact that he wanted to.  He knew he shouldn’t let himself get away with it though.

But the food…

It might be worth it not to be hungry anymore.  It might be okay, as long as he kept his feelings separate from his stomach.  Just because they were feeding him didn’t mean that he needed to grow any more attached to them.  They were just…  He was just using them.  Yes, that was it.  Jim was just using them, and that was all it was.

Jim went to sleep that night, hungry for the first time in a long time.  As he drifted, he allowed himself to be honest for just one moment.

It wasn’t just the food.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! Please take some time to let me know what you think. XD


	10. Entwined

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> …to show her how he thought they were entwined…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this chapter is a bit more choppy than the other ones. I switched their POVs much more often than I usually do so that I could get the whole story across without doing too much backtracking. Anyway, I hope you guys like the chapter even if it isn’t in my usual style.
> 
> I wanted to apologize for the wait. The holidays were way more stressful than they should have been, and I didn’t get any writing done. :P School starts tomorrow, so I’ll get busy again, but hopefully, I’ll be able to stick to my current writing pace.
> 
> Also, I would like to request once more that all of you go check out my new story RocketMan. I just posted the second chapter, and I promise that it will be finished eventually. So go read and review, please. XD
> 
> I would like to thank my beta, Delu. She is awesome. :)

Spock was surprised when he found Jim waiting outside of his house the next morning.  He had been under the impression that the human wanted nothing to do with him and had thought that he would need to go back to “stalking” Jim (as his mother insisted on calling it) in order to wear him down.  Spock had no illusions about his relationship with Jim.  He knew that the human merely tolerated him at best.

So why was Jim coming back to him so easily?  It didn’t make any sense.

“Don’t get any ideas, Spock,” Jim told him as he approached.  “This doesn’t mean I like you.  I’m just hungry.  That’s it.”

 _Of course_ , Spock thought, disappointed in spite of himself.  He reached into the bag lunch he had prepared just in case and offered Jim the apple he had packed.  Jim grabbed it and started taking large bites.

“I haven’t forgiven you yet,” Jim added in between bites.  “Don’t think that this…” He waved the apple in Spock’s face.  “…gets you anywhere close to being forgiven.”

“I would not presume such a thing, Jim.”  And it was true.  Spock’s acquaintance with Jim had most assuredly reinforced the idea that one should never assume anything.  “Are you willing to tell me what I can do to hasten your forgiveness?”

Jim eyed him speculatively for a moment, and then shrugged.  “I’ll think about it.”

 

* * *

 

 

Jim did think about it.  He thought about it during his morning classes, ignoring his teachers with more than his usual lack of interest.  He thought about it during lunch, ignoring Spock in his preoccupation as the Vulcan tried and failed to make conversation with him.  He thought about it during the detention he got pinned with for his failure to pay attention during his afternoon classes.  And then, he thought about it as he walked home with Spock, who had patiently waited for him to serve his detention so that he could accompany Jim as he left the school grounds.

The first and most obvious thing he could ask Spock to do was leave Jim alone.  Since his own attempts at avoiding the Vulcan had failed (due in most part to his own lack of willpower), he thought he could make Spock do it for him.  Unfortunately, Jim had had to discard this idea almost immediately.  Spock had been stalking him for pretty much as long as they had known each other.  If Jim tried to make Spock leave him alone, the Vulcan was just going to go back to stalking him again and they would just end up back at square one.

It wasn’t until he was walking home that afternoon that Jim thought about what Spock’s father had said at his birthday party.  Sarek had called Jim Spock’s “tie-la”, whatever that meant.

And suddenly, Jim really _wanted_ to know what it meant.  Spock had been embarrassed by his father’s use of the word.  Vulcans did not get embarrassed, so whatever it meant, it had to be important. 

He knew what he was going to ask.

 

* * *

  

“I’ve decided what I want,” Jim told him as they walked home.  “I want you to tell me what ‘tie-la’ means.”  Spock froze.  Of all the things Jim could possibly wish to ask of him, why did he wish to know that?  “If you tell me what it means,” Jim continued.  “I’ll forgive you.”

The only thought in Spock’s mind was of how far he had come and of how far back his words from the day before seemed to have set him.  Jim had barely spoken to him at all since that morning.  Spock could not fathom going back to the way things had been just one month previous. 

The only problem was that Spock was entirely unsure how to explain the concept of _t’hy’la_ to a human.  Spock could easily give Jim a Terran translation that would be somewhat logical, but would Jim really comprehend it?  The concept was complex, and it couldn’t really be described with words.  Vulcans understood because of shared memories passed down through generations, but humans had no such referential base.  How could he explain it so that Jim would understand?

 

* * *

 

Spock had invited Jim up to his room.  Jim didn’t know what to think about that.  He had never been up to Spock’s room before; why would the Vulcan suddenly invite him up there now?

Spock had never answered his question.  The Vulcan bastard had just said in a prim voice, “If you are willing to be patient, I would ask that you wait until we have reached the privacy of my sleeping quarters.”  Jim hadn’t had any choice but to give in.  If he wanted to know what the “tie-la” word meant, he knew he would have to just go along with whatever the fuck Spock wanted him to do.

When they got to Spock’s house, Amanda greeted him warmly, as though yesterday had never happened.  It made him feel… good to still be wanted, even after he had pitched a shit fit and refused to eat there the day before.

A few minutes later, he followed Spock up the stairs.  He looked at the pictures lining walls as they ascended, noting the progression of pictures and how Spock had grown over the years.  He forced himself not to think about just how cute Spock had been as a small child.  He wasn’t going to think about it.  He really wasn’t.

Oh who was he kidding?  Spock was kinda… well, cute would be the best descriptor he supposed.  As a young Vulcan, his ears had been way too big for his head.  He had obviously grown into them over the years, but in the first few photos from when he had been two, three, four, five, and so on, Spock had looked like large bat.  If Jim were the type of guy to think of things as ‘adorable’, Spock as a child probably fit the bill.

Jim looked around the room as Spock led him into it.  It was a rather large room, and aside from the bed by the window, it didn’t look like a bedroom at all.  It reminded Jim of the chemistry lab at school.  There was a table set up in the corner with several racks of test tubes and some high-tech equipment that Jim didn’t know the names of.  Spock must be a fucking genius or something if he knew how to use all of this equipment for actual experiments that didn’t have step by step instructions to guide him through it. 

Shit, he had known that Spock was a good person, and he had known that he was smart.  But now, now he knew that Spock was a fucking genius.  Even more, Jim was sure, than all of the other Vulcans his age.

How the hell was Jim—who was only human, after all—supposed to keep up?

 

* * *

  

Spock walked to the window and looked out for a moment, staring into Jim’s bedroom across from him.  That bedroom, the one that had always seemed so full of pain and misery, was empty right now, and Jim was here, safe, with him.

He turned to look at his human.  Jim was examining his room with a strange expression on his face.

“Jim,” Spock said, drawing his _t’hy’la’s_ attention.  “The concept I am about to explain to you is a very private matter.  It is rarely discussed even among Vulcans, and it is never spoken of with non-Vulcans.  My mother was not even aware of the phenomenon prior to the discovery that you are my _t’hy’la_.”

“But what does it mean, Spock?” Jim asked, his tone frustrated.  “You haven’t told me what it _means_.”

“ _T’hy’la_ is a complex theory that is even regarded as a myth by some.  There has not been a known case on Vulcan in over one hundred years, which is why I had originally been somewhat skeptical…”

“Spock,” Jim interrupted.  “Just tell me what the fuck it means.”

Spock stopped and thought for a moment, still somewhat hesitant and stunned at what he was about to suggest.  But he had already made the decision, all that was left was for him to follow through with it.  “I cannot adequately explain what _t’hy’la_ means to a Vulcan.  It is so overwhelming, so all encompassing.”  He paused, taking a deep breath.  “Which is why I would like to propose a rather unorthodox technique that will allow me to show you just what it means to me.”  Spock reached forward, his hand in the position necessary to accomplish his suggested methodology.

“Jim, I would like to seek your permission to show you my thoughts as well as my emotions through what is known on my planet as _kash-nohv_ ,” he informed Jim.  “In English, it is called a mind meld.”

 

* * *

 

“No fucking way,” Jim said, his voice breaking just a tiny bit.  “I don’t know what the hell a ‘mind meld’ is, but I can put two and two together as well as the next guy.  There is no way I am letting you fuck around in my head.”

Like Jim wanted Spock to be tainted by all of the horrible things in his head.  It just wouldn’t be right to expose him to the utter depravity that was his thoughts and memories.

Spock’s hand pulled back, and if Jim wasn’t mistaken, the Vulcan looked hurt by his rejection.  “Oh,” he said softly.  “I had hoped…”  Spock shook his head.  “It is unimportant.  I will explain it to you as well as I am able.”

The Vulcan’s head bowed as he thought, and Jim suddenly felt ashamed of himself for reacting so violently.  He couldn’t let Spock have access to his brain, but he didn’t have to be an ass about it.  “Spock, just tell me the literal translation,” he said in what he hoped was a kinder tone of voice.  “It doesn’t have to be pretty.  Just spit it out.”  Well, nobody would ever accuse him of being polite, but at least it wasn’t downright rude.

“‘Friend, brother, lover’,” Spock said suddenly.

“What?” Jim asked, confused.

“‘Friend, brother, lover’,” Spock repeated.  “That is the literal Terran translation for the Vulcan word _t’hy’la_.”

“So he was calling me your friend, then?” Jim wondered, still not quite understanding.  “Why were you so embarrassed if he was just saying that we were friends?”

“You don’t understand.”  Though Jim could detect no such emotion in Spock’s voice, he somehow knew that the Vulcan was frustrated.  “It does not mean ‘friend’ or ‘brother’ or ‘lover’.  It an amalgamation of all three terms.”  Spock looked into Jim’s eyes.  “The human equivalent of the word would be ‘soulmate’.”

No.  Fucking.  Way.

 

* * *

 

 

“You have got to be shitting me!” Jim yelled.  “I’m your god damned soulmate?  And what?  You didn’t think I deserved to know that you’ve been stalking me because you’re a creepy perv who thinks we’re destined to be together?  What the fuck, Spock?”

Spock drew back, shocked by Jim’s reaction.  “Jim…”

“No,” Jim said.  “You don’t get to speak.  The only reason you care about me at all is because of a fucking…”  He cut himself off and turned away from Spock, taking a deep breath.

“Jim,” Spock cut in more forcefully this time.  “It was not like that.  I was not aware of it until after I saved you from the bullies.  I accidentally touched your skin, and our minds were drawn to one another.”  He shook his head.  “I did not know what it meant until I started sharing your dreams, and even then, my father had to explain the significance to me.  _T’hy’la_ is such a rarity, such a gift, that it did not even occur to me that I could be lucky enough to find mine in a human.  I have always been an outcast among my people; I had thought that I would always be alone.  But now I have you, Jim, and I…”

“You’ve been sharing my _dreams_ ,” Jim said flatly.  “What did you see?”

It took Spock a moment to redirect his thoughts, and when he did, it did not even occur to him to lie about it.  “I saw your memories of Tarsus IV, and your dreams about your step-father.”  And suddenly, Spock had to know, “Is he the one beating you, Jim?”

Jim stared at him, his face turning a brilliant shade of red.  “God damn it, Spock!  My dreams are private!  You can’t use them like a… video channel or something.  And…”  Jim’s skin turned ashen.  “You know about Tarsus?  How long?”

“It hasn’t been…”

“ _How_ _long,_ Spock?” Jim gritted out through clenched teeth.

“37.8523 days.”

“Almost a month?  You’ve known about Tarsus for almost a month, and you…”  He gasped.  “And Amanda?  She knows too?  And your father?”  Spock nodded reluctantly and watched as a hurt look overtook Jim’s angry expression.  “So you guys don’t really want me around.  You just _pity_ me.  That’s why you’ve been making me lunches and inviting me over for dinner and throwing me fucking birthday parties,” he spat.  “You guys have been feeling sorry for me the whole god damned time.  Well you know what?  I don’t want your fucking pity.  I don’t _need_ it.”

“Jim, it really wasn’t…”

“That’s enough, Spock.  From now on, leave me the fuck alone!”

 

* * *

 

 

Spock didn’t follow him, and Jim took that as proof. 

He really was as worthless as Frank said he was.  With Spock he had thought…  Well, he had hoped…  He sighed.  For the first time in a very long time, he had felt as though someone actually wanted him around.  It shouldn’t be surprising to him that it had all been a big lie.  They hadn’t really wanted him around at all.  They just pitied him. 

Plus Spock had formed that freaky Vulcan soul-thing with him.  Jim wasn’t exactly sure where that fit into the equation, but he figured at this point, it really didn’t matter anyway.  Any relationship they had had was through, over, kaput.

He didn’t bother saying goodbye to Amanda before he left.  Jim didn’t know if he could face her right now in any case.  She really was a nice person, and Jim knew that if he saw her, he would yell at her too.  Even if she had been pitying him, Amanda didn’t deserve that.

Jim ran back to his own house, thankful that Frank wasn’t home yet.  That would just be the perfect end to a perfectly horrible day.

Once he was safely ensconced in his bedroom (after making sure to firmly close the curtains so that Spock wouldn’t know just how much damage he had caused), he allowed himself to curl up on his bed, his knees drawn into his chest and his shoulders hunched.  It would take Jim a lot of time to get past this one.  He had begun to hope for the first time in a long time, and even though that hope hadn’t begun to grow all that long ago, it had somehow flourished in the wasteland of his mind.  And now that hope was dead, and Jim didn’t know where to go from there.

He wasn’t sure how long he sat there.  He didn’t move for a time—it could have been minutes, hours—his unseeing eyes staring at the opposite wall as his thoughts raced.

Then he blinked, and the tears began to fall.

 

* * *

 

Spock was shocked by what had occurred up in his room.  Once again, things had not gone as he had intended, and this time it seemed as though he really had lost Jim for good.

Amanda tried to talk to him about it at dinner.  His father even attempted to aid her in her quest to discover what had transpired with Jim up in his room.  Spock refused to talk about it though.  This matter was one that required a great deal of thought and meditation before he would allow himself to speak of it to anyone, even his parents.

He sat through dinner, saying little more than to inform his parents that Jim would not be joining them, and then he went up to bed.  Spock knew his mother was staring after him worriedly, but he just did not know how to respond to her looks.

Once in his room, he immediately peered out the window to find that Jim had pulled the curtains closed for the first time since he had moved in 74.2497 days ago.  The sight caused him to stiffen as another wave of shock and pain washed over him. 

Jim had really meant it this time.  There was no going back.  His _t’hy’la_ had rejected him.

Finding himself unable to regain his composure, Spock forced himself to move over to his meditation corner and fold himself into his usual position.  For now, he needed to keep himself under control.  He needed to think.

What he _did not_ need was to let his emotions overwhelm him.  What he most assuredly did not need was to go over to Jim’s house and beg him to listen.  No matter how much he wished to do so, it would not be in either of their best interests to curtail Jim’s processing time.  To do so would only set him back further.

And so, Spock let himself drift.

 

* * *

 

 

Jim was dreaming again.  He knew he was dreaming because that Vulcan bastard was pressed against him again, and they were kissing—something Jim knew had never happened in real life.  He let himself fall into the kiss, pouring everything he had into it as though his life depended on it.  This wasn’t the real Spock, but still Jim wanted him.  _God,_ he wanted him so badly.

Spock moved against him in a way that should be illegal.  It was heady and intoxicating and…

And then he remembered.  He remembered what had happened while he was awake, and the discovery he had made.  Spock shared his dreams, and the Vulcan he was rubbing himself against just so happened to be the real one.

But even so, the dream world dulled the impact of it, so all he did was pull away slightly, murmuring, “Spock, you shouldn’t be here.”

“I did not mean to intrude, Jim, as I have not intended to intrude on any of your other dreams.  Just as you have no power over your subconscious when you sleep, I also do not have the ability to direct my mind while I am not conscious,” Spock replied softly.  “Vulcans do not dream, so it is not something we are taught to control.  My mind is drawn to yours, so when I do dream, I end up here.”  He considered this for a moment, and Jim could almost see the wheels turning in his head.  “It is actually quite logical.  As the link between our minds grows, more of our thoughts will be able to cross it.  When we are asleep, the barriers that normally keep our minds contained are more relaxed.”  He looked around at the indistinct dreamscape.  “And so we experience shared dreams.”

Jim shook his head and said again, “You shouldn’t be here, Spock.”

Spock peered at him through narrowed eyes.  “You are my _t’hy’la_ , Jim.  I do not believe you truly understand what that means.  My explanation this afternoon was inadequate.”  He paused to gather his thoughts, carefully trying to choose words that would make Jim understand.  “You are my everything.  I want to be with you in every way possible.  I want to protect you from anything that hurts you.  It is not pity that motivates me as you believe.  I am drawn to you because of _you._   It is your mind, your soul, everything that you are calls to me.”

“Jim,” Spock said, and his eyes seemed to look directly into Jim’s soul.  “If you do not believe me, let me meld with you.”  His hand reached out towards Jim’s face, just as it had that afternoon.  “Please, Jim.  Let me show you.”

“Will a meld even work in here?” Jim wondered.  Fuck, this was surreal.  Nothing felt wrong, but he knew that had they been talking in real life, he wouldn’t have even considered letting Spock get anywhere near his brain. 

“It will,” Spock replied.  “You are already in my mind, and I am already in yours.  To meld in here will only deepen the connection.”

Jim gave Spock an assessing look before shrugging.  What the hell?  If what Spock was saying was true, they were already melded for all intents and purposes.  Deepening the connection really couldn’t do any damage could it?

“Fine,” he said.  “Do it.”

 

* * *

  

Spock felt a thrill of excitement run through him at Jim’s words.  He was going to meld with Jim.  Though he had never before performed a meld while in a dream state, he was sure the mechanics would be the same.  He moved his hand closer to Jim’s face, his fingers nearly vibrating with emotion.

“Wait!” Jim said quickly.

Spock froze, his hand a mere inch from Jim’s face.  He wanted more than anything to close that meager distance and become one with his _t’hy’la_ , but he could not do so against Jim’s will.  Spock forced himself to pull his hand back and answer Jim in a carefully measured tone.  “Yes, Jim?”

“You won’t see my memories, right?” he asked in a worried voice.  “Or my emotions?”

Spock frowned.  “If you do not wish for me to see your memories, I will make sure that I do not access that part of your mind.  I cannot completely prevent myself from reading your surface thoughts and emotions.  If you think something while we are in the meld I do not think there is any way to shield myself from it, but your deeper thoughts and emotions will be protected.  I cannot gain access to them unless you wish for me to see them.”

Jim let out a breath.  “Okay, I think I’m ready.”

Spock moved his hand back into position and finally made contact with Jim’s psi points.

 

* * *

 

 

Their souls collided, and all of a sudden, Jim was swamped by a mass of confusion.  Where was he?  What was he doing?  _Who_ was he?  Was he a Vulcan or a human?  Was he Jim or Spock?

Then everything snapped back into place.  He was Jim again, but he was in Spock’s mind, and that was just… weird.

He ‘walked’ forward a bit, surprised by the amount of control he had.  Spock was just going to let him wander around his mind?  No barriers, no defenses?  Jim felt touched by this act of trust.  Spock had faith that he would not fuck anything up or go out of his way to hurt him.

The world inside of Spock’s mind was less ordered than Jim would have thought it would be.  Organized chaos, he supposed would be an apt name for it.  There were masses of riotous color everywhere, collected into balls of swirling light, and Jim was sure that they represented Spock’s thoughts and emotions.  The largest one was in the center of the space he was in, and it swirled with so many colors that Jim didn’t have names for all of them.  It also seemed to be pulling him towards it, and Jim, who was never one to resist his impulses, went.

He reached out to touch it, but before his fingers could make contact, he hesitated.  Would Spock really want this?  Would he want Jim to mess with his thoughts and emotions?  After all, Jim had made Spock promise not to do to him what he was about to do to Spock.  Was that really all right?

Though the Vulcan didn’t speak, Jim felt as though he could hear Spock urging him on.  _Do it, Jim.  I wish for you to see me for who I truly am.  Do it, Jim._

And so, Jim did.

He was unprepared for the strength of the emotions that slammed into him.  Together, home, family, friend, _t’hy’la_ , Jim, love, love, love…

Jim could only stand there in awe.  These were Spock’s feelings for him?  They were so strong, and so definite.  Spock was in love with him.  It was very clear now.  There wasn’t even a sliver of pity in Spock for Jim.  There was a lot of worry and more than a little empathy, but there was no pity.

And there was love.  So much love that it overwhelmed him.  So much love that he could not help but love in return.

For the first time, Jim allowed himself to admit it.  He was in love with Spock too.

All of a sudden, Jim was scared.  He couldn’t be in love with Spock.  He just couldn’t be.

 _Out,_ Jim’s mind insisted.  _Let me out_.

And then, the meld was broken, and Jim was sitting up, shaking and panting in his own bed.

 

* * *

  

Spock lay in his own bed, disoriented by the sudden separation of his mind from Jim’s.  He did not know what had happened.  He had been under the impression that Jim was beginning to return his feelings, and then it was over, Jim was forcefully pushing his way out of Spock’s mind.

He winced and rubbed at his temples.  That had not been the most pleasant experience, and it seemed to have left him with a headache.  He was sure that Jim had unintentionally done some damage with his forceful exit.

Spock sat up slowly and leaned back against the headboard in an attempt to get his vision to stop swimming.  When he was recovered enough to think, he cogitated on what had happened with Jim, trying to figure out just what had gone wrong and how Jim had been able to push himself out of Spock’s mind.

It really did not make any sense to Spock.  Jim had been very good at mind melding.  Spock had felt almost no disorientation from him at all aside from a few minutes of confusion after their souls had first merged.  It was rather awe-inspiring.  Even Spock, upon his first melding with his father had experienced a loss of identity that had lasted for quite a bit longer than Jim’s slight floundering.  Jim had a very strong sense of self that had obviously been cemented by all of the things he had been through in his life, and Spock could not have been prouder to have chosen such a human as his mate.

Whatever Jim’s problems were, Spock would help him work through them.  Spock had heard what Jim had been thinking in the few seconds before he broke the meld.  Jim was in love with him too, and Spock would make sure that no one, not even Jim, would ever tear them apart again.

 

* * *

 

 

Jim huddled against the headboard of his bed, completely panic-stricken.  What the fuck had just happened?  Spock was in love with him.  He was in love with Spock.

But he couldn’t be in love with Spock.  Frank would kill him.  Literally.

Frank was the stereotypical small town drunk.  He was xenophobic, he was homophobic, and he was a mean son of a bitch.  It also didn’t help that the asshole hated Jim with a passion.  If Frank caught wind of this, he wouldn’t ask any questions.  He wouldn’t wait for explanations.  He would lay into Jim, and Jim knew that by the end of it, he would be dead.

Plus, Spock really did deserve better, and Jim believed that even more now that he had acknowledged his feelings.  Spock deserved someone who could be happy with him.  Jim had never been truly happy, and after a lifetime of not being happy, he didn’t think he even knew how to go about turning himself into a happy person. 

Spock deserved someone who was whole.  Jim hadn’t been whole since the minute his father decided to give up his life and his mother decided to blame him for it. 

So no, he couldn’t be with Spock.  He couldn’t tell Spock that he was in love with him.  Although he didn’t think he had the willpower to stay away from Spock completely, he knew that he had to, at the very least, make sure their relationship stayed classified as ‘just friends’.  He couldn’t let it become anything else.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please review. It’ll make me write faster if you do. I promise. :)


	11. The Window Sill

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ...I see you sitting there at the window sill  
>  Looking for shooting stars  
> I wanna get closer and closer still  
> I wanna take over your heart  
> You will be mine, mine  
> Over time, time  
> You’re gonna find, find  
> I’ll make you mine, mine…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay! We are making progress, and somehow I managed to post within my deadline. Who’s excited?!? XD 
> 
> I do need to warn you though that this chapter contains very, VERY strong references to rape (though if you’ve gotten this far, you already know that Jim was raped, so that shouldn’t be an issue).
> 
> Without further ado, I give you chapter ten of Looking For Shooting Stars. :)
> 
> P.S. Thank you, delu, for being the most awesome beta ever. Seriously, you guys, she’s the shit.

Jim wasn’t good at being friends with people.  None of the people he had ever considered himself friends with had ever stuck around for a long time, and after a while, he had just stopped trying.  The situation he found himself in now was even weirder to him than the impulse to become friends in the first place.

Jim knew that Spock was in love with him.  He also knew that he was falling in love with the Vulcan.  He knew that he didn’t want to lose the Vulcan’s friendship, but how the fuck was he supposed to be friends with the guy when he couldn’t… when he needed…  He had to hide his feelings.  That was non-negotiable.  He was sure that Spock had gotten more than an inkling of what Jim was feeling when they had been in the mind meld, but even so.  Jim couldn’t let Spock know that he wanted anything more than friendship.

No, he didn’t want anything more than friendship, not a damn thing.  Jim just had to keep telling himself that.

He was somewhat apprehensive about how things would play out after their shared dream the night before.  Would Spock say something about it when he met Jim outside of his door that morning?  Would he ask him about the beatings or…?

It turned out that he didn’t have to worry too much.  Sure, Spock tried to make conversation as they walked to class, but he didn’t bring up what had happened while they slept.  Jim didn’t know how to handle it, so he, in turn, ended up giving Spock the occasional monosyllabic answer.

It didn’t get better as the day went on, though by the time they were on their way home after school, Jim had stopped worrying about Spock bringing up the giant fucking elephant that seemed to have been following them around all day.

And then there was dinner.  Amanda had made the most amazing vegan lasagna.  He didn’t know how she made vegetables taste so damn good.  It was a smorgasbord of noodle-y, cheesy, vegetable-y goodness—so good in fact that Jim didn’t even care that it was made with non-dairy cheese substitute.  Hell, he had eaten worse things in his life.  For a moment, Jim couldn’t help but be grateful that he had chosen to remain friends with Spock, if only because he got to keep eating Amanda’s cooking.

The conversation didn’t hurt either.  Jim had been irrationally worried when they had first gotten there that Amanda and Sarek would ask him about his relationship with their son or about Tarsus or about Frank.  He knew now that they knew about all of it.  They knew that their son was in love with him.  They knew that Jim had almost been a victim of genocide on Tarsus IV.  He was also almost positive that they knew that when he went home, Frank would probably beat the shit out of him.  But they didn’t say anything, and to Jim it was a huge relief.  Slowly, he allowed himself to relax.

Then it came time for him to go home, and for the first time since he had started joining them for dinner, Amanda said, “Jim, would you like to stay the night?”

And the elephant in the corner suddenly became very visible.

 

* * *

  

Jim was late getting home that night, but some kind of angel must be feeling mercifully or _something_ because Frank wasn’t home yet.  Even so, Jim ran all the way to his room just in case, slamming the door and resting back against it, his breath coming in large pants.  Tonight had been mostly fine, but the last thirty minutes had just been awkward.

There had been no fucking way he could have accepted Amanda’s invitation.  For one thing, if Frank had found out, Jim would have regretted it.  Frank’s beating would have doubled in severity, and Jim’s sense of self-preservation just wouldn’t let him go through with it. 

Besides which, Jim knew that if he had taken them up on it, he would’ve had to endure a sleepless night anyway.  Jim hadn’t been able to sleep with someone else in the room (unless sedated, of course) since he had gotten back from Tarsus.  It was one of the reasons he hated hospitals.  People were always coming and going and coming and going, and Jim didn’t get a single god damned moment of peace.

He finally let himself move away from the door, going to his bed and fishing his notebook out from the space between the mattress and the bed frame.  He head was all over the place.  He needed to write it down, get his thoughts and feelings in order.  He uncapped the pen and rested the end against his lips as he thought.  Then he lowered his hand and began to write.

_January 19, 2248_

_I am so fucking confused._

Jim lifted the pen, not quite knowing what to say next.  It was a good start, but he needed to say more.  He needed to get all of it down, and since he hadn’t had a chance to write since the night before last, there were a lot of things he needed to recount.

_Spock has formed some kind of freaky alien sex bond with me.  He knows about Tarsus.  He suspects that Frank is the one kicking the shit out of me, and I don’t think there is any way I can persuade him that he’s wrong.  He’s been spying on my fucking dreams.  God, he’s such a bastard!_

Jim broke off again, anger filling him, his fist clenching hard around the pen.  He breathed in and out for a moment in an attempt to calm himself down.  It didn’t pay to get upset about it now.

_What’s done is done.  He’s still a bastard, but I’m falling in love with him anyway.  God damn it, what the fuck am I supposed to do about that.  I really can’t return Spock’s feelings the way he wants me to.  If I show any of it openly and Frank finds out about it, he will kill me.  I’ll end up a bloody smear on the living room floor.  There won’t even be enough of me left to make an identification.  I want it so bad though.  I want to allow myself to trust him.  I want to not worry about Frank for once. I don’t want to kick him out of my life.  I love the guy.  I guess the only thing I can do right now is try to be his friend.  Like, actually make an effort this time.  I can’t keep freezing him out, or he’s gonna get fed up and stop trying.  A part of me still thinks that, even though I saw into his head.  Fuck, I know it’s not true, but I still can’t… I can’t just… Fuck it all.  I need to make an effort.  That is exactly what I need to do.  I need to try to keep him interested even if I’m pretty sure he won’t abandon me.  I’ve gotta try to talk to him.  I’ve gotta..._

Jim stopped.  He didn’t know exactly what he had to do.  He moved his head from side to side, trying to get the kinks out of his neck and shoulders.  Fuck, he couldn’t write anymore.  He needed to move. 

Jim rolled off of the bed and onto his feet.  He paced from side to side in his small room.  He didn’t know what to do.  He supposed he would just have to see Spock tomorrow and actually talk to him this time.

He turned to make another round of the room only to pause when he noticed a pair of brown eyes staring at him through the gap in the curtains he had closed the night before.  Jim gasped.  Spock was staring at him from his own bedroom.

Jim marched over to his window and threw open the curtains.  There was no time like the present to start on his new plan.  He was going to have a conversation with the Vulcan bastard if it was the last thing he did.

“You’re a bit of a creeper,” Jim said.  “You know that, right?”

 

* * *

 

Spock tilted his head.  He had no understanding of the word ‘creeper’, but he could extrapolate from its meaning from its root word.

“What are you doing anyway?” Jim asked him.  “Other than looking at me, of course.”

“I was looking at the stars,” Spock replied.  “Well, what I can see of them, in any case.”  There was not a great deal of space between his house and Jim’s, and as such, much of his view of the night sky was obstructed.  “I have always been fascinated by space.  There is so much to explore, so much to discover.”

Jim’s nose wrinkled, and his brow furled.  “Fuck space.  I hate it.”

Spock could feel his face twisting into an expression of confusion.  “Why do you hate space, Jim?”

Jim hesitated for a moment, as though unsure whether he wanted to say anything at all.  Finally, he seemed to come to a decision.  “I don’t have a good history with it,” he responded slowly.  “I’m sure you know some of it already.  Aside from the shit that went down on Tarsus, my past is public record.  It’s taken everything from me.  My dad, my mom, Sam.  They all left me for space.  They left me here alone with that asshole, Frank.”  Jim shook his head angrily, not saying any more.

Spock nodded in understanding.  “I can see why you would feel that way.”

“Sometimes I do that too though,” Jim added suddenly.  “Look at the stars, I mean.  I’ve always wanted to see a shooting star, but…” he trailed off. 

Spock could comprehend this as well.  “Shooting stars represent hope,” he told Jim in a gentle voice.  “It is only natural that you would look elsewhere for something that you yourself lack.”

Jim did not respond, but his eyes grew wide with something like panic.  Spock could see it as plain as day, and this in itself brought a moment of clarity.  Jim was scared.  He was terrified to let himself hope.  He was worried that if he did, his hopes would be crushed and he would be left in a position worse than the one he was in now.  Spock didn’t know how to reassure him that he would not let it happen.  No matter what took place, Spock would make sure that Jim’s quality of life improved.  He would never allow Jim’s hopes to be crushed.

“I have always wished to explore space, and I believe the best way do so is to join Starfleet.  I know that you are not Starfleet’s “biggest fan”, as my mother would say, but I believe that it is the only way that I can travel in space and study it simultaneously.”  He catalogued Jim’s expression and noticed that the human looked intrigued.  “What are your plans for the future?  Your parents were in Starfleet; do you have any intentions of following in their footsteps?”

Jim looked down for a moment before meeting his eyes again.  “I…” Jim paused to think for a moment.  “My gut reaction would be to say ‘hell, no’ and leave it at that, but I can’t say that without lying through my teeth.”  He shook his head.  “I hate space, but there’s just something about it.  I’ve always had the feeling that Earth was too small, and space, well, it’s endless.  There are no limits; there’s nothing to hold you back.  And that is what I want,” he admitted.  “Someday anyways.  I don’t want to be confined anymore.”

Spock could only stare at him for several long seconds, an idea forming in his head that made him unspeakably happy to think about.  “Jim, would you by any chance be interested in joining Starfleet with me?  We could explore it together.  We could protect each other.  We could…”

“Do you…” Jim interrupted.  “Do you mean it?”  The human looked terrified at the prospect.  “’Cause if you do…  If you really mean it, then I…”  He didn’t say any more, just waited for Spock to answer him.

“Jim,” Spock said, his tone serious.  “You are already aware that I am in love with you.  You are my _t’hy’la_.  There is nothing that I would not do for you.”

“Spock,” Jim replied, his voice barely above a whisper.  “I can’t.”

And then, he slammed his window shut.

 

* * *

 

Jim slid to the floor beneath his window, the claustrophobia already starting to bear down on him.  Spock had said it.  Spock had said it out loud.  A shot of excitement ran through him at the thought.  Spock had told him that he loved him in words, and even though he was already well aware of that fact, Jim was still ridiculously happy to hear it stated plainly without all of the other emotions between them getting in the way.

But even if he was happy about it, he still knew he couldn’t do a damn thing to reciprocate.  It was why he had reacted as he had.  Jim hadn’t been able to bear looking at Spock any longer.  He needed the separation, the distance, to keep himself sane.

Jim knew what Frank would do to him if he found out.  Jim had gone through countless possibilities in his head during the day, each one more horrific and gruesome than the last.  And he also knew that there was probably no way to keep him from finding out, not if things kept going as they were going now.  He needed to put a stop to it.  He needed to keep all of those feelings locked up so deep inside of him that there was no chance they would ever see the light, and maybe, just maybe, if he did that, then he wouldn’t lose everything he was just beginning to allow himself to hope for.  If he could hold onto it for just three short years, he would be free.  In three years, he would be eighteen, he would be graduating, and he would be leaving Riverside and never coming back.

Just three years.  Jim had survived worse than this, and he would survive this too.  Three years, and he could tell Spock how he felt.  Three years, and they could sail off in a starship and never look back.

 

* * *

 

Spock stared at the window for a long time after Jim had slammed it closed.  He did not understand why Jim continued to repudiate him.  Spock knew from his contact with Jim’s mind during the meld that the human was in love with him.  So why did he continue to deny it?  Why did he say “I can’t” like it was tearing him apart just to utter the words?  It did not make any sense.

He wandered downstairs, in the need of some advice from one or both of his parents.  Perhaps they would be able to tell him why Jim was acting in this peculiar manner.

When he found them, they were reading companionably in the living room, Sarek seated at one corner of the couch while Amanda reclined with her feet in his lap.  Spock entered the room slowly and waited for them to notice him.

Sarek was the first to acknowledge his presence.  “Spock.”

Amanda looked up, her brow furrowed.  “Spock,” she said worriedly as she stood up.  “What’s wrong, sweetheart?”

Spock forced himself not to react to the term of endearment.  He did not wish for her to know that he drew comfort from it, as he had asked her on multiple occasions to refrain from utilizing them.  Despite his attempts to obfuscate the matter, she somehow seemed to know that regardless of what he said, they still had a positive effect on his demeanor.

Spock shook himself free of his thoughts and inhaled deeply.  “There has been some advancement with Jim in the past few days, but I am not sure what it means.”

“Oh, that’s wonderful,” Amanda started.  Spock couldn’t repress a slight grimace because he did not consider it to be the least bit wonderful.  “I see.  So whatever it was wasn’t good, was it?”

Spock shook his head, but didn’t speak.  He wasn’t sure what to tell them because he didn’t quite know what was going on himself.

“Tell us what happened, Spock,” Sarek commanded.

So he did.  He told them about how Jim had been mad at him and how he had asked for forgiveness.  He told them about how Jim had requested Spock define the word, _t’hy’la_ , and how he had attempted to do so in human words.  He told them about how Jim had gotten angry and how they had melded in their dreams later that night.  He told them about how Jim knew about Spock’s feelings and how he now knew that the human was in love with him as well.  Spock told them everything, including the fact that Jim had just rejected him through their open windows.

“What did he mean by ‘I can’t’?” Spock asked, his gaze traveling instinctively to his mother, whom he considered the one to ask about human reactions.  “I do not understand.  I know that he is in love with me, so why can he not be with me?”

“Oh, Spock,” Amanda looked heartbroken.  “I don’t know.  Humans don’t have singular motivations for doing things.  He could have a million different reasons for why he won’t open up to you, and I couldn’t even begin to guess at what those might be.  He’s had such a hard life,” she said sadly.  “Trust probably doesn’t come easy to him.”

Spock pondered this for a moment.  It did make sense, but at the same time, Spock had gotten the sense that Jim did trust him.  Or at the very least, he trusted him more than he did anyone else in his life.  Besides which, Jim’s reaction earlier still did not seem sensible to Spock.  He would have expected his _t’hy’la_ to get angry again, but the human had looked miserable and his voice had reflected as much.

“There is another possibility,” Sarek interrupted Spock’s musings.  “You have told me that you suspect his step-father of beating him.  It stands to reason that this man may not like the thought of his step-son taking up with a male of a species that is not his own.  If this is the case, Jim may be scared of his step-father discovering his feelings for you.”  Sarek thought about it for a moment more before nodding his head.  “His survival instincts are very strong.  It is quite logical.”

Spock deliberated carefully on the matter.  If this was true—and considering all he had heard of Frank, the probability was high—then Jim was in more danger than he had realized.  He needed to meditate before he did anything else—get his thoughts and emotions in order so that his mind was clear of unnecessary clutter—and then he was going to think of a plan to get Jim out of that house and away from his step-father.  He did not care what he had to do to make it happen.

 

* * *

 

Jim was scared.  Hell, he was fucking terrified.

It was worse than it had been in real life, because this time, he was fully aware of what was going on.  He knew what was going to happen to him; he had already lived through it.  But he couldn’t stop it.  He knew what was going to happen, and he couldn’t fucking stop it.

Hands pressed him down into the ground.  They were dirty hands, filthy with shit crusted around the nails, but that wasn’t what caught his attention.  Everyone was dirty on Tarsus.  Nobody had the energy to worry about bathing when they were all starving to death.  No, it was what those hands were doing to him—what they _planned_ to do to him—that made him worry.

The fucked up part was that when this had really happened, he hadn’t had the presence of mind to be worried or scared.  The guy had offered him food, and Jim had been so _hungry_.  He had had a choice, and he probably would have died if he hadn’t eaten it.  He had had a choice, and he had made the wrong one.  Like he wasn’t just as hungry as every other person on the fucking planet.  They were all hungry, and Jim had made the mistake of thinking that he was special because someone was offering him food.  Free food.  He should have known that everything had a price.  He should have known better.  Instead, he had just offered himself up.  He deserved it for being so fucking stupid.

Jim remembered the food more than the man who had been holding it.  He remembered a thick piece of bread and a bottle of fresh water and a god damned chocolate bar.  Jim was sure it was the chocolate bar that had done it.  He hadn’t felt it until after he had scarfed it down.  He’d just felt heavy at first, like there was a weight on his chest, and then the world had started spinning.

He hadn’t known how he had gotten from there to lying face down in a rotting corn field, a man on top of him pulling his threadbare shorts and boxer briefs from his waist to his ankles.  He hadn’t known how long he had been there or what had been going on.

But now he did, and it was so much worse because he knew and he couldn’t do a damn thing to fight back.

He remembered how he would end up though.  Beaten and broken, stumbling to his feet with blood and semen dripping down his legs and chocolate smeared all over his mouth and cheeks.  He remembered that it was the chocolate he had scrubbed at later.  The bodily fluids—both his and his rapists—had been easy enough to wipe off because they had still been fresh, but the chocolate had been caked on his face for who knows how long, and he remembered scrubbing and scrubbing until his skin was chafed and almost bleeding, and he just hadn’t wanted to think about it—he just _couldn’t_ think about it—and then he had hidden himself away in a fucking hole in the ground until…

Jim couldn’t let it happen.  Not again.  But he couldn’t fight back either; he was drugged, and he couldn’t move.

Fuck, if Spock saw this…

 _Spock,_ Jim thought the name as a shot of dread ran through him.  Spock couldn’t see this.  Jim didn’t want him to know.  Spock never had to know. 

If he found out, he would never want to have anything to do with Jim again.  Jim had let himself be sullied.  He wasn’t clean anymore; he wasn’t whole anymore.  He wasn’t good enough for Spock, and he never had been.  Even if Spock could forgive all of the things he already knew about, Jim knew that he could never forgive him this.  Hell, he had never forgiven himself, so how could he expect Spock to look past it?

He couldn’t let Spock see it.  He just couldn’t.

Jim didn’t know how he did it, but a second later he was sitting up in his own bed, his chest heaving as he tried to catch his breath in the wake of the nightmare.  He could only sit there for a moment, replaying what had almost happened (again) in his mind. 

Jim pushed himself back so that he was resting against the headboard and put his head down into his hands.  Then he looked up again, seeing the light shining from the Vulcan’s room.  He was very lucky that Spock hadn’t gone to sleep yet, or he would have seen everything.  And Jim knew that he sure as hell couldn’t let Spock witness something like that. 

Spock would never know.  Jim would keep it from him.  He would lock it up so deep in his mind that Spock would have to bring dynamite to get through the mental walls he was going to put up to protect it.

And so, Jim leaned his head back, closed his eyes, and started building.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So as you guys may be aware, Looking For Shooting stars will soon be coming to an end. Fortunately for all of us, I don’t think I can tell the entire story with the chapters I have left, so I will be doing a sequel. The sequel isn’t going to pick up where LFSS left off, but instead it will take place during Jim’s time at the Academy. I am going to ask you guys to let me know if there is anything you want to see in the next fic. I don’t need you guys to give me a plot; I already have most of that figured out. All I want are general things you would like to see happen, and as long as they don’t conflict with my endgame, I will do my best to work them in. :)
> 
> Oh, and don’t forget to tell me how you feel about this chapter, especially the part where Jim is dreaming about the rape. I really want to know what you think. Please and thank you. XD


	12. Written in Red

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Little love letters written in red  
> Folded up, put away, next to the bed  
> Little crushed hopes, every day  
> Waiting in the wings to spirit her away

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry for not meeting my deadlines, you guys. So much has happened since the last time I posted, and if I had tried to put my time into fanfiction instead of concentrating on my schoolwork, I probably wouldn’t have graduated. Thank you for being patient with me.
> 
> I was spurred into writing again by a few reviews I received over the past week, so thank you to those readers who got me out of my slump. Also, I just got home from seeing the new movie, and oh my god, it was ridiculously amazing. Anyone who hasn’t seen it should go see it right NOW. I mean it, you guys. Put down this fic and go watch it right away. It is awesome. Seriously.
> 
> Anyways, I do need to impart a few warnings with this chapter, and you should definitely pay attention to them. This is an extremely unhappy chapter. It includes some (consensual) sexual content, major violence, and homophobia. At this point, you guys have probably seen most of this in other chapters, so it shouldn’t be an issue, but I don’t want anyone saying that I didn’t warn them.
> 
> On with the story. Enjoy. XD

Jim’s fingers trailed seductively over Spock’s as he bit down softly on the tip of one pointed ear.  He felt the Vulcan shudder below him, and the corners of his mouth curled up in a small, wicked grin. 

Fuck, that was hot.  He wondered if he could make Spock come just by biting at his ears and playing with his fingers.  Well, there was no way to know for sure if he didn’t try.

He tangled their fingers together as he licked a stripe up Spock’s ear, pressing a kiss to the tip before repeating the process.  Spock moaned and thrashed beneath him; Jim couldn’t keep himself from pressing his dick more firmly against his almost-lover’s stomach, reveling in the friction created by Spock’s movements. 

God, he wanted to just stay here forever.  He wanted to _feel_ this way forever.

“Jim,” Spock gasped, arching up against him.

And then, suddenly, Jim was on his back, Spock lacing their fingers more firmly together and holding Jim’s hands to the bed.  “It is _my_ turn now,” Spock said, lowering his head towards Jim’s neck.

A loud bang echoed through the wall Jim’s room shared with the hallway, causing him to bolt upright in his bed.  His first thought was that Frank was an asshole for waking him up.  Fuck, Spock had been so beautiful.  Above him, below him, it didn’t matter as long as their hands were entwined, and their lips were locked together, and…

And then the embarrassment hit him.

Jim really needed to stop dreaming, especially now that he knew Spock was usually in his head while he slept.  His dream tonight hadn’t been as horrifying as most of his nightmares usually were, but it was _so fucking embarrassing_.  He was sure that when he woke up, he would never be able to meet Spock’s eyes ever again.  Sure, he had had plenty of erotic dreams about Spock, but none of his previous dreams had been quite this… specific. 

Jim dropped his head down into his hands.  He could still feel Spock’s hand entwined with his, could still feel their lips pressed together, taste the skin behind the Vulcan’s perfectly pointed ears.  God, it was going to be even harder to stay away from Spock now.

He raised his head and couldn’t resist the urge to look through his open window to where Spock’s window was also ajar.  Then, he froze, his head still bent, his hands held just inches from his face, fingers twitching.  Spock was sitting up on his bed, his eyes wide, watching Jim.

And at that moment, Jim really wished there was a hole in the floor that would swallow him up.

 

* * *

 

The next morning, Spock waited outside of Jim’s house, still somewhat confused about the events of the previous night.  Spock had been watching Jim sleep like he usually did before retiring himself, and then, the human had woken up, looked at him “like he had seen a ghost”, as his mother would say, and rolled himself up into a ball under the comforter on his bed.

Spock did not know, nor did he understand, what had happened, and he could not even begin to presume how Jim was going to act this morning.  He had learned from his months of watching and cataloguing his _t’hy’la’s_ behavior that anytime he had expectations about how Jim would act, the human would quickly and efficiently shatter them.

When Jim finally opened the door of his house, his face turned a brilliant shade of red as he noticed Spock, and then he merely brushed past the Vulcan without saying anything at all.  Spock followed him silently for several minutes, his thoughts percolating as he deliberated on how he wanted to handle the situation.  He knew better than to try and ignore it entirely, but considering his previous attempts to talk to Jim about things that were bothering him, he was justifiably wary of crossing one of the many invisible lines his _t’hy’la_ had drawn around himself.

Unfortunately, Spock did not know how else to go about broaching the subject with Jim, and so, after following along after the human silently for several minutes, he finally spoke.  “Jim,” he said, reaching out with one hand to touch the human’s shoulder in an attempt to halt his determined, single-minded march to the high school.  “I believe we should discuss what happened last night…”

Jim whirled around, his face contorted by an emotion that Spock did not quite understand.  “No,” he said firmly.  “I don’t want to talk about it.  My dreams are none of your fucking business.  So what if I have some sort of freaky obsession with your ears?  Who cares if I dream about cuddling with you?  It doesn’t mean a god damned thing!”  Jim cut himself off, panting as though he had just run a great distance.

Spock could only stare at him for a moment, completely stunned.  Jim had apparently had a dream the previous night and was under the mistaken impression that Spock had shared it.  Illogically, Spock found himself wishing that he had gone to bed just an hour or two earlier the night before.  The thought of Jim having a fixation on his ears was intriguing.  Vulcan ears were quite sensitive, and because of this, even his mother had not touched his own since he was a child.  The fact that Jim wanted to touch them—perhaps wanted to do more than simply touch them—made heat curl in the pit of his stomach.

That was a reaction to be analyzed later during his meditation though.  Jim was currently distressed, and the longer Spock allowed the silence between them to grow, the more agitated Jim became.  His _t’hy’la_ was embarrassed and angry with him.  Spock knew that he needed to do what he could to rectify the situation before it could get any worse.

“Jim,” Spock said softly, slowly, so as not to upset the human any more than he already was.  “I know that you are aware of the fact that I am in love with you, and I am 98.5863% certain that you feel the same.  There is no need for you to experience the humiliation you are currently experiencing.  You are safe with me.”

Jim’s face twisted further into an expression that Spock once more failed to comprehend.  “No,” he moaned, shaking his head.  “Don’t say that.  You can’t…  I can’t hear that.  I can’t be in love with you.”  He looked at Spock with wide, pleading eyes.  “I can’t _let_ myself be in love with you.”

Spock did not understand.  Jim’s reaction told him that the human did, in fact, feel the same way, but if that were the case, then there was no reason of which Spock was aware for why he could not admit to it.  Spock needed to know.  He needed to know why Jim continued to resist the bond that he knew both of them could feel becoming stronger between them.  “Why, Jim?”

Jim turned his back to Spock, mumbling under his breath in a low voice that would have been incomprehensible to Spock were he not half Vulcan.  One of Jim’s mutterings in particular stood out to Spock.  “Frank would _kill_ me.”

Spock had been moving forward to calm the human, but Jim’s words caused him to stop in alarm.  The previous night, his father had postulated that Jim feared Frank’s reaction to a homosexual relationship, but even so, a part of Spock, who had so far been unable to gather any evidence to support his parents’ theory, had still been reluctant to believe that Jim’s step-father was physically harming him.  It was not something that made any logical sense to him.  Jim’s words filled him with horror.  This was irrefutable proof that Frank was hurting him.  His _t’hy’la_ was currently fearing for his life, and Spock had done nothing to stop it.

“Jim, if he is going to hurt you…”

“I didn’t mean that literally, Spock,” Jim interrupted.  Spock started to relax.  His mother must have been wrong.  Then, he noticed that Jim’s hands were clenching and unclenching in a reflexive repetitive manner, and he knew.  Jim was lying to him.

Spock opened his mouth to demand the truth, but Jim cut him off again.  “Drop it, Spock,” he said, his voice ringing with a tone of finality.  Though Spock really wanted to argue, the look in Jim’s eyes was bordering on desperate, and he couldn’t allow himself to push his _t’hy’la_ any further at the moment.

Instead, he shepherded Jim to the school, vowing to himself that the moment he had his parents alone, they were going to figure out a way to get his _t’hy’la_ out of this situation.  Spock would get him away from his step-father, and Jim would never suffer again for the rest of his life.

 

* * *

 

Everything was spiraling out of control.  Spock knew.  Spock _knew._   Jim had been aware that Spock was starting to get suspicious.  He had started asking questions—very pointed questions about both Frank and the beatings—but Jim knew that Spock didn’t have any evidence because if he had, the shit would have already hit the fan.  Even so, Jim knew that Spock would figure it all out sooner or later.  He had known that from the beginning.  Spock was fucking brilliant; he was bound to put two and two together eventually, and it appeared as though ‘eventually’ had just become now. 

The look on Spock’s face when Jim said that Frank was going to kill him said it all.

Shit, if Spock tried to tell someone…

Jim was fucked, that’s what he was.  He knew that there would be a big investigation.  Frank would deny it; Jim would refuse to talk.  All of it would come to nothing, and Jim would once more end up bleeding out on the bathroom floor.  Hell, Frank would probably get so upset about the whole thing that he might even decided to do the world a favor and finish Jim off once and for all.

Jim was many things, but suicidal wasn’t one of them.  He didn’t want to die, and he sure as hell didn’t want to just sit around waiting for Frank to kill him.  Perhaps it would just be better if he told Spock everything now.  Spock already knew, and since Jim knew that Spock knew, he _also_ knew that Spock was going to do something about it.  So if it was all inevitably going to come out anyway, maybe he should just…

Well, it wasn’t like he needed to decide right away.  Spock probably wasn’t going to be doing anything about it today, so Jim could probably take a bit of time to think everything over, write about it in his journal, do whatever he needed to do to keep this whole shitfest from developing into a clusterfuck.

And so, Jim thought about it through morning classes, and he thought about it while he ate lunch with Spock.  He looked up at the Vulcan sitting across from him.  Did he trust Spock enough to share that much of himself?  Did he trust Spock enough to let the other boy save him?

Spock lifted his head so that their eyes met, and then he cocked his head.  “Is everything well, Jim?” he asked, sincerity and genuine interest clear on his face.

Jim just nodded and went back to eating.  So trust probably wasn’t an issue, but he still wasn’t completely sure that coming clean to Spock was the best idea.

There was time for him to think about it.  All of his problems would still be there in the morning, and taking a little time to decide wouldn’t hurt anyone.  He’d give it twenty-four hours.  One day to get his head on straight—to make sure that the decision he was making was the right one—and then he would tell Spock everything.

 

* * *

 

Jim left Spock’s house as soon as he could think up an excuse for why he just _had to_ get home.  Dinner with Spock and his parents had been subdued that evening, and Jim knew that they were all tiptoeing around several issues that they knew he wasn’t willing to talk about.  Spock had been the one to ask him to stay the night this time, and though it was tempting, Jim knew he couldn’t allow himself to stay.  He needed some time to himself, some time to _think_ , and he really couldn’t do that when he was anywhere near Spock.  Nothing managed to screw with his thought processes quite like the Vulcan bastard (and fuck if that wasn’t starting to sound like a term of _endearment_ or something).

Jim was also well aware that staying over would be a recipe for disaster.  He was smart enough to know that doing something so monumentally stupid would end up leaving him a bloody mess.  Sure, staying the night with Spock would delay it for a bit, but Jim was almost positive that, were he to give into the temptation to not go home, Frank would end up twice as angry, and Jim would end up twice as fucked up.  It really, _really_ wasn’t worth it.

What he needed to do now was get to his room, take out his journal, and write it all out.  The current situation was complicated.  Jim was fifteen.  His step-father was an abusive asshole.  He was probably…  Okay, he was definitely in love with Spock.  The only one of the above that he had any control over was the mess with Spock, but what the fuck was he supposed to do about _that_?  It wasn’t like he could entertain the idea of actually confessing his feelings for Spock.  There was a two year age difference.  Spock would be leaving for Starfleet next year, and he would be leaving without Jim.  And then there were the sex issues that Jim just…  Fuck, he just couldn’t think about that right now.  With all of the shit piling up against them, there was no way any kind of relationship could work out.

Or maybe there was…?  He just didn’t fucking know right now, and that was the problem.  He really needed to get to his room and work through all of the shit rattling around in his head before it overwhelmed him.

Jim walked a bit faster.

When he got to the house, Jim opened the front door slowly to keep it from creaking.  He knew that Frank was already home as soon as he walked through the door; he could hear the holoscreen blaring at him from where Frank was most likely already in a drunken stupor on the living room couch.  Jim carefully tiptoed past the entrance to the living room, breathing a sigh of relief when he reached the stairs before climbing them as quickly as possible.

Jim closed the door behind him when he was finally able to creep into his room, leaning against the door, eyes closed, simply breathing for a moment as his heart rate slowed.

Then, he opened his eyes and nearly jumped out of his skin when he saw Frank sitting on the end of his bed staring at him.

Well, fuck.

Frank looked like shit.  His eyes were red and heavy-lidded.  His skin was starting to take on a yellowish tinge (jaundice would serve the bastard right, Jim thought viciously) and his hair looked disgusting.  Jim focused on all of these details—the disheveled clothing, the putrid stench coming off of him in waves—trying to push back the fear that was threatening to overwhelm him.

Then, Jim noticed that his journal was open on Frank’s lap and all of the feelings he was trying to suppress flowed over him.  Frank was going to kill him.

“’ve been hearin’ rumors ‘bout you, boy,” Frank slurred.  “People’ve been sayin’ you’re a fag.  ‘S it true, boy?  Are you a fucking faggot?”

Jim started shaking his head, starting to back away before realizing he was already pressed against the door.  He knew it was futile to deny it.  Frank knew that Jim was in love with Spock—he had obviously been reading Jim’s journal—so disagreeing with him probably wasn’t going to keep his step-father from beating the shit out of him. 

He had to try though.  “No,” Jim said, still shaking his head.  “It’s not true.  It’s not.”

“Don’t lie to me!” Frank roared, standing up and crowding him back against the door.  “Fuck, you really had me fooled boy.  I thought there mighta been somethin’ redeemable ‘bout you.  I thought if I beat the values inta you maybe somethin’ would stick, but you’re just a worthless filthy little faggot.”  A backhand made Jim’s head snap to the side.  He used the momentum to move around Frank, practically diving further into the room to get away from him.

He had to do something.  He had to find a way out of this.  He had to…

Frank turned to take another swing at him almost immediately.  He managed to sidestep it, but the next one caught him square in the jaw, sending him tumbling back, his head cracking on the footboard of the bed as he went down.

Jim’s vision blanked for a moment, and though he knew Frank was yelling, all he could hear was static.  The whole world seemed to slow down and speed up intermittently.  When he put a hand to the side of his head, it felt wet and painful, and his fingers came away red and slick with blood.  Before he could gather his senses, Frank had already aimed a well-placed kick to Jim’s ribs before grabbing Jim’s hair with one hand so he could smash him face-first into the bed frame.

The world came back into focus as he felt his nose break and the blood gush down his face.  He was sobbing for breath now, not caring about the show of weakness because in that moment he had more to worry about than his pride.  Frank really was going to kill him, and Jim needed to catch his breath.  He needed to catch his breath and get the fuck out of there, or he was going to die.

“...shoulda known you were a cocksucking whore,” Frank was muttering as he grabbed Jim’s shoulder and pulled him back away from the bed.  “Always thought your dad was too pretty to be straight.  Mus’ be in the blood or somethin’.”

Tears ran down Jim’s face as he thrashed in Frank’s grasp.  He didn’t want to die like this.  He didn’t want Frank’s cruel words to be the last thing he ever heard.  He wanted to fight.  He wanted to live.

But then, Frank threw him down, and Jim’s head hit the floor, stunning him once again, and by the time, he had recovered from that blow, there was another one and another one and another one.  Jim lost count of how many punches, how many kicks.  It felt like the beating went on forever, and Jim tried to make himself move, tried to get away.  He tried even as he felt a pain in his forearm that meant broken bones, even as he started coughing up blood and struggling to breathe around a broken nose and what would probably turn out to be multiple broken ribs.  Jim kept fighting the blackness that threatened to overwhelm him, and he kept fighting the pain, and he kept fighting Frank because fuck if he was going to die like this at the hands of a stupid, selfish, bigoted asshole…

But then, suddenly, the scale tipped, and there was no fight left in him.

Jim went limp and let the exhaustion drag him down.  He blinked the dark red haze out of his eyes and saw that the puddle of blood spreading out on the floor beneath him was dying the pages of his journal as it seeped out of him.  The laugh sounded more like a wet, hacking cough than an actual laugh, but it didn’t really matter anymore.  Frank had taken Jim’s feelings and stained them, leaving the journal as a bloody valentine for Spock to find when he inevitably realized that Jim was dead on his bedroom floor.

Jim knew that Spock would be the one to find him.  He knew that the freaky soul bond, _tie-la_ thing they had would make sure of that.  As much as he wished he could spare Spock, he was also ridiculously grateful that _somebody_ would find him, and though he was ashamed of himself for even thinking it, he was glad that someone would miss him.

“Spock,” Jim whispered with the last of his breath.  And then, he let himself slip away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please don’t kill me for this. It was necessary for my end game. If I were a truly cruel person, I would tell you that this was the last chapter, and that I’ve decided not to do the sequel. Fortunately for all of you, I wouldn’t do such a horrible thing to my wonderful readers, and so there will be one more chapter and maybe an epilogue after this.
> 
> As for the sequel, I will tell you about the general plan for it. It is (probably) going to be titled “Stay Strong”. I decided to stick with the song lyric thing I have going on in this story, so after several months of combing through songs to find one that fits what I want to happen, I finally chose “Keep Holding On” by Avril Lavigne. Seriously, you guys, I read through the lyrics of a LOT of songs before I chose this one. It more or less fits the plot I’m envisioning, but I’ll let you know if I change my mind. It’s been known to happen, so I’m not ruling anything out. I still haven’t decided whether or not I want to include the second movie, but considering how epic it was, I’m leaning towards it.
> 
> The sequel is going to be somewhat less angsty than this one was. Jim’s main emotional hurdles in the next one is going to be overcoming his sexual trauma and developing his relationship with Spock. Overall though, the story will probably (hopefully?) be less gut-wrenching.
> 
> Okay, now that I’ve told you guys about the sequel, do you think you could do me a favor and review? I would really, really appreciate it. Please and thank you! XD


	13. Shooting Stars

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ...I see you sitting there at the window sill  
>  Looking for shooting stars  
> I wanna get closer and closer still  
> I wanna take over your heart  
> You will be mine, mine  
> Over time, time  
> You’re gonna find, find  
> I’ll make you mine, mine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, everyone! Who’s excited about the last chapter? I know I am. XD
> 
> So this chapter is pretty much nothing but mush with a helping of sappy, sappy feelings. Well, after you get past the angsty parts. But seriously, after that, there is a lot of sap. So, enjoy it.

Spock waited until he and his parents had finished clearing the table before broaching the subject of his _t’hy’la’s_ situation.  He had remained silent while in Jim’s company, but he found that with the human’s departure, he could no longer force himself to do so.  He needed to get Jim away from his step-father, and he needed to do it as soon as possible.

“Mother, Father,” Spock said, drawing their attention as they settled on the couch.  “I am concerned about Jim.  Earlier today, he intimated that if he allowed himself to be in love with me, his step-father would kill him.  He then informed me that he did not mean for his phraseology to be taken literally, but I believe that there may have been some truth in his words.”  Spock paused, taking a deep breath to ensure that he retained his calm exterior.  “As a result, I have been reflecting on ways in which we may remove Jim from the custody of his step-father.  Unfortunately, the protocol on such situations seems to indicate that Jim would need to admit to the fact that he is being mistreated, and I do not foresee this being something Jim would acknowledge.”

Spock turned to his mother, knowing that his human eyes, so like hers, were probably full of the emotions he was working so hard to keep off of his face.  He needed her to side with him though.  His father would be less likely to approve, but if his mother agreed, Sarek would be much more easily persuaded.

Amanda’s eyes welled with tears.  “Oh, Spock, I wish that your father and I could just take Jim away from Frank, but I can’t think of any way to make that happen.  Jim is old enough that they won’t remove him from his parents unless there are witnesses to the abuse or he goes to the authorities.”

Spock’s heart sank.  He wanted to save Jim, but he was still only seventeen.  He could not do much to help his _t’hy’la_ without the support of his parents.

“Spock,” Sarek said slowly.  “Your mother is correct in that we, as your parents, have no authority to remove Jim from his step-father’s custody; however, I do understand the Vulcan instinct to protect one’s mate from harm.  It is one that runs deep within our species, and it is not easily overcome.”  Sarek looked over at Amanda, and Spock would swear his eyes softened slightly.  “Though I was at first reluctant to do so—as the position of ambassador is not intended to be utilized in such a manner—I believe I may be able to use my contacts within the Terran government to get someone to look into this matter.”

Spock froze for a moment, stunned.  He had not expected his father to agree with him, let alone offer to aid him in such a way.  He found himself simply nodding dumbly before realizing that he had not yet thanked Sarek.  “Yes, Father.  I believe that would be of great assistance.  I am appreciative.”

Sarek inclined his head.  “I will begin making calls tomorrow.”  Spock caught a glimpse of the same softness he had seen earlier once more reflected in his father’s eyes which were now directed at him.  He had never noticed that look before and was unsure what it meant.  He would need to consider it further during his evening’s meditations.

Amanda put her arm around Spock, a smile starting to form on her lips even as her mouth opened to speak.  Before she could say anything though, Spock’s head jerked up as he heard a voice whisper his name.

He knew that voice.  Of course, he knew that voice.  It was Jim.  Spock’s head tilted in confusion.  Though he usually had some awareness of Jim and his emotional state, he had not previously been able to hear the human’s thoughts unless they were both asleep.  Perhaps, Jim was trying to contact him.

This thought gave him pause, and he grew momentarily excited in an uncharacteristic bout of optimism as he considered the reasons Jim could possibly be reaching out to him.  Maybe Jim had finally admitted to himself that he wanted to be Spock’s mate.  He lowered his mental shields eagerly, following the pathway forged between Jim’s mind and his own…

There was nothing on the other end.  Jim’s mind was gone.  Jim was…

“There is something wrong with Jim.”  Spock was moving before either of his parents could formulate a response.  Seconds later, he was pushing through the unlocked entrance to the Kirk residence and running up the stairs to where he knew Jim’s room must be despite the fact that he had never been in the house prior to that very moment. 

He shouldered through the door to Jim’s room, not noticing the slam of the wood hitting the wall as he took in the sight before him. 

Blood.  Jim’s blood.  It was everywhere, large puddles spreading across the wooden floors, and Spock’s heightened senses ensured that it was all he could see, smell, taste.  Jim’s body was a broken, bloody mess, unmoving as the red pools around him grew larger.  Spock reached out with his mind, but he could not even sense his _t’hy’la’s_ presence.  There was only one logical explanation.

Jim was dead.

Spock let out a primal scream of rage, his gaze sweeping the room before narrowing in on the only person who could possibly be responsible for this.  His _t’hy’la_ —his future, his Jim—was dead, and this man was going to pay for causing it.

The human would not have stood a chance against a Vulcan, even had Spock not been in a state of rage so consuming that logic escaped him entirely.  He could not think clearly.  He could barely speak.  All he knew was that this human was the one who had taken half of his soul.

Spock had him pinned against the wall by the throat before the man could blink.  He leaned forward, baring his teeth and hissing in a jumble of Vulcan and Terran words, “You killed him.  He was not yours to touch.  He was _mine._ ”  The human scrabble to get the hand off of his neck, but Spock merely tightened his hold, nails digging into the sensitive skin and drawing blood.  He was going to kill this man for taking from him what was rightfully his.

“Spock.”

He turned quickly, teeth still bared to deter any possible threats.  Then, he blinked, realizing that his father was behind him, grimly crouched on the floor by Jim’s body.

“Spock,” his father reiterated.  “Your _t’hy’la_ is still alive.  You must help him.”

His fingers unclenched, allowing the human to fall to the ground like the dead man he was going to be after Spock finished ensuring Jim’s survival.  He moved woodenly toward his father before dropping to his knees next to him, the blood pooled on the floor almost instantaneously soaking through the cloth covering his lower legs.  A part of Spock’s mind noted that it was Jim’s blood coating him and knew that he would be horrified by that fact later.

Right now, though, there were more important things.  Jim needed him, and Spock was going to save him.

“I believe that his body is in shock,” Sarek said in a low voice.  “His organ systems are beginning to shut down entirely.  You need to meld with him and prevent this from happening or he _will_ die.”

Spock immediately moved his hand toward his _t’hy’la’s_ face, but before his fingers could connect with Jim’s meld points, his father’s voice stayed him.  “While I have never attempted what you are about to, I am familiar with the theory and have read several first-hand testimonies.  Before you attempt to control his physical functions, you will need to locate his psychic presence.  If you do not do this, even if you save him, he may not wake up.  You _must_ find him first.”

Spock felt a renewed sense of determination and nodded firmly at his father.  Then, his fingers landed on Jim’s face, and he allowed himself to fall.

 

* * *

 

 

Everything was dark when Spock regained awareness of his surroundings.  He was immediately ill at ease.  When he had melded with Jim before, the human’s brain had been dynamic, full of color and light and life.  Now there was nothing, and Spock did not know where to even begin looking for his _t’hy’la_ when it seemed as though there was nothing but limitless empty space.

He knew he needed to find some sort of guide to lead him to Jim, and so, devoid of any other ideas, he opened the link they shared and searched for any hint of his _t’hy’la_.

There was nothing at first, but after a few moments of concentration, Spock thought he could feel a slight tingle indicating the presence of life.  He narrowed in on the feeling, and then, he knew exactly where Jim was.

Suddenly, he was standing in front of a very small—very young—blond boy, huddled against a large wall.  Spock blinked, and then sighed in relief.  Jim was here.  He was not dead.  Spock could save him.

He knelt down next to the boy, who still hadn’t looked up.  “Jim?” Spock prompted.

The boy finally raised his head warily, his eyes lacking any sort of recognition.  “Who are you?”

Spock swallowed, pushing down the feelings Jim’s forgetting him engendered.  “I am Spock.  We are… friends.”

Jim looked at him curiously for a moment, before saying, “Spock.  I think… you know the older me?  He mentioned you.”

Spock stared at him, slightly startled by the question.  “You are aware that you are older now?”

Jim nodded.  “Yeah, he keeps me hidden because he thinks I make him weak.  He told me to stay here…”  Jim gestures to the wall behind him.  “…with the other things he wanted to keep from you.”  Silence reigned for a long minute as Spock thought this over.  It was Jim’s right to have secrets, and so Spock was not going to pry; however, he also could not possibly leave this Jim here by himself.  The boy fidgeted nervously before blurting out, “Get me out of here.  Please.  It’s so dark and scary, and I’m all alone.”

Spock immediately moved forward to comfort Jim, sweeping the boy up and wrapping his arms around him.  Pressing the boy’s face into his shoulder, he said, “Never, Jim.  You will never be alone again.”

And then, Spock’s arms were empty, and a voice was yelling at him, “What the fuck did you do, you Vulcan bastard?  Where is he?”  Jim—the Jim that Spock knew from the physical world—stormed up to him and pushed at his shoulder.  “Didn’t you hear me, Spock?  You shouldn’t even be here, so where the fuck is he?”

Spock did not know how to answer Jim’s question.  One minute, the boy had been there, and the next…

Spock’s eyes widened.  _Oh_.  He allowed himself a moment to absorb the realization before attempting to placate Jim.  “I—  Jim, I believe I may have inadvertently completed our bond.”  When Jim opened his mouth angrily, he hurried to continue, “But that is not the important thing at the moment.  You are dying.  I must ensure that your brain continues to function properly, so that your organ systems may do the same.  You need to come with me.”

Jim gaped at him, not saying anything for several seconds.  “I _can’t_ , Spock…”

Spock held out one hand.  “Jim, do you trust me?”

Jim pressed his lips together tightly and nodded once before placing his hand in Spock’s.

 

* * *

 

Spock partially surfaced from the meld when the paramedics arrived.  He had been able to successfully keep Jim’s vital functions from ceasing, but he knew that Jim was not free from danger yet.  And so, while a part of him was cataloguing what was physically occurring, a greater percentage of his efforts were concentrating on keeping Jim’s body breathing and, of course, with holding on to Jim inside their joined minds. 

As the link between them had been blown wide open, Jim was experiencing everything he did.  When Spock first noticed Jim’s step-father standing over in one corner of the room between two police officers and then saw the man’s bloody face—most of the blood seemed to stem from his broken nose—the human did as well.  Jim’s first instinct was to flinch, Spock knew, but he only allowed himself a small shudder before asking, “What happened to Frank?”

Spock realized that he had not caused most of the damage the human currently exhibited.  While the bruising around his throat could be attributed to him, Spock had not touched the man’s face.  He looked around the room for some clue as to what had happened.

And then, he noticed that there was a paramedic currently bandaging his mother’s hand.

“It appears as though my mother took offense to his treatment of you,” Spock said unnecessarily, analyzing Jim’s face for a reaction.

Jim went still for a moment, seemingly not even breathing.  His eyes were wet when he finally muttered, “Wh—  If I wake up, remind me to thank her.”

Spock pulled Jim into his side and moved his arm up to wrap around Jim’s shoulders.  His eyes closed involuntarily as he kissed his _t’hy’la’s_ forehead.  As Jim relaxed against him, Spock murmured, “‘When’, Jim.  The word you are looking for is ‘when’.”

 

* * *

 

The paramedics decided to load Jim and Spock into the ambulance approximately 1.2584 hours after Spock had initiated the meld.  Once they arrived at the hospital, there was a blur of activity and before Spock knew it, the doctors had whisked Jim off to surgery, telling the Vulcan that he should join his parents in the waiting room and that they would inform him of any changes in his human’s condition as they became apparent.

Spock grudgingly did as he was told, but could not prevent himself from pacing the length of the small room until his mother told him that he was going to “wear a hole in the floor” if he did not stop. 

And so, he sat, deciding instead to monitor Jim through their bond.  He could not currently hear Jim’s thoughts—the human was on too much anesthetic for that to be possible—but he did know that Jim was still alive, and due to his intimate knowledge of his _t’hy’la’s_ vital systems, he also knew that Jim was physically stable at the moment.

The hours passed slower than they should have, but soon enough, the doctor was coming out to tell him that Jim had been moved to the Intensive Care Unit for observation, but overall the outlook was positive.  Spock stopped paying attention the minute the man uttered Jim’s room number.

3.5742 minutes later, Spock was sitting in a chair next to Jim’s bed, holding his Jim’s hand and murmuring comforting words straight into Jim’s mind.

 

* * *

 

“Spock.”

He could not get the memory of Jim’s fading mental whispers from his mind.  Only the fact that he was currently holding the human’s hand—feeling the throb of his slow, steady pulse—was allowing him to retain the shreds of his composure.  On the inside, though, Spock’s emotions were in complete and utter havoc.

Sitting here—Jim still drugged and absent from his mind—was giving him too much time to think about everything that had happened and how he could have prevented it.  Jim had died.  Jim’s heart had stopped, and only Spock’s intervention had saved his life. 

Spock could have stopped all of this from happening.  The guilt and pain the thought evoked were nearly overwhelming.  He had almost been too late to save Jim from something that he never should have had to experience in the first place.  If Spock had just done something sooner—  He could have spoken to his father about utilizing his position as Ambassador weeks ago, but he had been in denial, hoping fervently that abuse was not the issue, and as a result, Jim had almost been killed.

“Spock.”

A hand touched his shoulder gently, and Spock finally realized that the voice saying his name was not echoing from within his memories of what Jim had thought to be his final moments.  He raised his eyes, for the first time in a very long time, looking away from Jim’s bruised face to see his mother.

“Spock,” she said again.  “Maybe you should go outside for a bit.  You’ve been sitting here for hours.”

Spock did not respond, but immediately started shaking his head.

“Just step outside for five minutes.  Get some fresh air,” she attempted to persuade him.  When he just continued to shake his head, she finally said, “You look horrible, dear, and really, is that the first thing you want Jim to see when he wakes up?”  When he simply stared at her, Amanda sighed and pulled him from the chair.  “Stay outside for at least ten minutes, and then you may return.”  She pushed him toward the door and then sat down in his vacated chair.  “Go.  I’ll be timing you.”

Spock moved on autopilot, taking the shortest and most efficient route to the nearest egress and then, after exiting the building, sitting down on a brick half-wall built along the edge of the parking lot.  He leaned back, closing his eyes and inhaling deeply.  It did feel good to breathe in something that wasn’t stale hospital air, tainted with the scent of blood and death.  He realized that just the few minutes he had been out here had already improved his disposition and resolved to thank his mother once he returned to the room.

Spock’s eyes opened, and he took in the night sky.  He recalled the last time he had done so, just a few days ago with Jim, remembering what he had told him about shooting stars. 

“Shooting stars represent hope,” he had told Jim.  “It is only natural that you would look elsewhere for something that you yourself lack.”

At the moment, Spock himself was rather bereft of hope.  Jim had not woken up yet, and though Spock could monitor his vital signs, he had yet to be able to catch any thoughts from his _t’hy’la,_ despite the fact that the initial anesthetics the doctors had administered had already worn off.  This was both frightening and worrying to Spock.  Despite telling Jim earlier that the correct word was ‘when’ not ‘if’, a part of him could not help but wonder what he would do if Jim never woke up. 

Spock shook himself.  That could not be allowed to happen.  If Spock had to keep Jim’s heart beating by melding with him for the rest of his natural life, he would do so.  Jim would not die.

All he needed was hope, Spock thought as he scanned the stars.  Just a small sign.

A small burst of light streaked through the night sky, causing Spock’s breath to catch in his chest.  The corner of his mouth twitched upward just slightly in a hopeful smile as he rushed back into the hospital.

 

* * *

 

The first thing Jim saw when he woke up was Spock.  Of _course_ it was Spock.  He had opened his eyes, blinking them blearily for a moment until the world swam into focus, and then bam.  Sudden attack of Spock’s face.  And fuck, he looked worried.

Spock looked at him disapprovingly.  “Jim, I did not attack you with my face, and I have every right to be worried.  You almost died.”

Shit, Spock was right.  He _had_ almost died.  When Frank had been beating the crap out of him earlier, Jim had been sure that he wasn’t going to make it.  He had been positive that even if someone did find him, he would have lost way too much blood for them to save him.

But Spock _had_ saved him.  Sure, he had ended up giving them a freaky ass bond as a tradeoff, but still, the Vulcan bastard had saved his live.

They were bonded.

They were _bonded_.

Oh, shit.  What the fuck did that even mean?

Jim sat there for several moments, quietly freaking out (though the panic was dulled slightly by the copious amounts of painkillers he was surely being pumped full of).  Then, Spock put a steady hand on Jim’s shoulder, and he was suddenly calm.

“I had no choice, Jim,” Spock said, answering his unspoken question.  “You were going to die.”  Jim felt a surge of embarrassment, and only realized it was coming from Spock when the Vulcan continued speaking.  “I must admit to you that I might have subconsciously bonded us on purpose.  You are my _t’hy’la_ , and as such, my mind’s natural instinct is to keep you with me by whatever means necessary.  I believe that I must apologize for…”

“Spock,” Jim croaked out, cutting off Spock’s apologies before he could complete them.  “Spock, I…”  He coughed, and Spock immediately leapt up to get him a glass of water.  Jim took a few careful sips before placing the cup down on the bedside table.  “Thanks,” he murmured, voice still a bit raspy.  “What I was going to say was that I don’t think you could have bonded us if my mind didn’t want it too.  I…  You wouldn’t force anything on me.  I know that.”  He felt his shoulders hunch at the admission.  It was probably going to take a while before he would be even close to comfortable talking about this shit, but he had to try because he owed Spock that much.  “You know, I…  I…”

He couldn’t say it though.  It was only three words, but Jim just _couldn’t_ do it yet. 

Instead, he extended the first two fingers of his right hand toward Spock.  When their fingers connected in a Vulcan kiss and Jim saw the look on Spock’s face, he knew that he had done the right thing.  Spock knew that he loved him, and that was all that mattered.

 

* * *

 

Jim drifted in and out of sleep for the rest of the day.  He was actually surprised that he was comfortable enough to sleep while in a god damned hospital—he really, _really_ fucking hated hospitals—but the warmth of Spock’s hand in his somehow made him relax enough to just let it happen.

Jim was awake again that night when Amanda and Sarek entered his room.  He tried to prop himself up further in the bed so that he could give them a proper greeting, but gave up when he noticed the looks on their faces.  Amanda looked conflicted, her facial expression warring between being upset and relieved, and though Jim could not read Sarek at all, Spock was marginally better at it and was projecting worry.

“Mother, Father,” Spock greeted them.  “What is wrong?”

Amanda doesn’t answer, instead going to the side of the bed that Spock wasn’t hogging.  “Jim, how are you?”

Jim shrugged and then winced as the movement tugged at healing skin.  “I’m fine.”  At their skeptical looks, he continued, “No, really, Spock’s been sitting there watching me like the frickin’ creeper we all know he is, so it’s not like I’m going to be able to reinjure myself,” Jim grumped.

“I am sorry we weren’t able to be here when you woke up.  Some things have come up that needed our attention.”  Amanda looked over at her husband, and some sort of silent communication took place before she turned back to Jim, her eyebrows furrowed and her mouth pressed in a thin line.  “Jim, this morning your house burned down.  Unfortunately, your step-father didn’t make it out.”

Jim stared at her in shock.  Frank was dead?  He didn’t know how to handle the news, emotionally torn in multiple directions.  A part of him was relieved that he wouldn’t have to live with that bastard ever again.  Then, of course, there was a very, very small part of him that felt guilty for feeling that way.

A dawning realization erased all other feelings and replaced them with horror.  He knew that his mother would never come back in the middle of a deep space mission to look after Jim.  Without Frank, he had no one to look after him.  He would probably end up in foster care.

And while that notion was fucking terrifying, it wasn’t as bad as the next one that hit him.  They were going to take him away from Spock.

Spock caught this train of thought and visibly blanched.  “Mother, what is going to happen to Jim?”

Amanda smiled softly and looked to Sarek, who moved forward to stand by her side.  “The relationship between you and Jim, in addition to my position as Vulcan Ambassador, made it possible for me to make a call to Winona Kirk despite the current position of her ship in deep space.  During our conversation, I asked her what she intended to do with Jim now that her husband was deceased.”  His expression grew hard and flinty, and Jim knew that Winona had probably told Sarek of her plans to dump him at the nearest foster home.  “We agreed that she would transfer custody of Jim to Amanda and myself until he turns eighteen.”

Spock’s grip on Jim’s hand tightened, and Jim barely suppressed his relief.  He couldn’t keep himself from asking, “Are you sure you want to…?  I mean, I won’t be eighteen for three years.  I couldn’t ask you to…”

Amanda stopped him by putting a hand on his cheek.  “Jim.  You are bonded to our son.  He loves you, and so do we.”

Jim blinked back tears as he realized that she truly meant it.  His own mother had never told him that she loved him, and now he had Spock’s parents, not only willing to allow him to live with them, but willing to love him as well. 

Jim squeezed Spock’s hand in his own and realized that after fifteen years of waiting, he had finally found a family.

%MCEPASTEBIN%

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, so I know I promised you guys a kiss, but I really, really didn’t see it happening in this chapter, so I had them Vulcan kiss instead. For the record, Frank was totally the master of his own fate on this one. I’m not quite sure how he did it, but he was so the one who burned the house down while still inside it. I’ll let you guys come up with appropriately stupid things he could have done to make that happen.
> 
> By the way, I am going to be posting an epilogue soon. I am planning on posting the epilogue of this story and the prologue of the next one on the same night, so that you guys can go follow the new story if you want to.
> 
> Other than that, I would like to ask you guys to please review to let me know what you think. I would be ever grateful to all of you if you would do so. XD


	14. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay, epilogue! Looking For Shooting Stars is finally over. I really hope you guys have enjoyed it. I know I have. 
> 
> By the way, for any of my reviewers that I did not respond to, I’m going to try to get caught up in the next few days. My computer kinda decided it wants to have startup problems awhile ago, so it’s a bit of a tossup as to whether or not I can actually use it. I figured finishing the chapter was a bit more important than answering reviews, but I do plan to go back and answer them when I have time.

Jim sat down on the front steps of Sarek and Amanda’s home, only attempting to keep himself straight for a few moments before giving into his exhaustion and slumping against one of the support columns.  The day had been ridiculously long, even though it had been rather uneventful.  He had been released from the hospital that afternoon, which he was exceedingly grateful for, despite the fact that he still hurt all over.  Jim really, really hated hospitals, so a bit of pain was nothing compared to the relief he felt to be out of that hellhole.

Somehow, the day had gotten worse after he left the hospital.  Amanda had promised him that they would move out of the house they were currently living in so that he wouldn’t have to look at what she termed “a reminder of his trauma”.  Though he knew that she was trying to be kind to him by offering to move, Jim knew that the memories would plague him whether or not he lived next to the fucking eyesore of charred remains Frank’s house had become, and so, he had told her that he would be fine.  Amanda and Sarek were going to be stuck with him for three years; the last thing they needed was to have to move on top of everything else.  Jim would still be able to function while living next door to his former home, and though he knew he would probably need to avoid looking at it on occasion, he also knew he could control any negative emotions relating to Frank and what it was like to live under that roof.

What he wasn’t prepared for were the other things the burnt out ruins dredged up.  The first thing he noticed when they got back from the hospital was the smell.  The whole area reeked of smoke and fire and death, and for a moment, Jim had been back on Tarsus, watching a town burn as the colonists looted it, everyone desperate to find any way they could to stave off the slow, painful death starvation promised.  A squeeze of his hand and a mental nudge from Spock had brought Jim out of it, but the Vulcan was still watching him carefully even hours later.

It hadn’t helped that he had just overheard a conversation between Amanda and Sarek about his step-father’s death and why the bastard had been free to burn himself alive instead of in jail where he should have been.  Apparently his mother had posted the fucker’s bail.  Not only that, but she had put in a good word for him in order to keep him out of prison.  Even after Frank had almost killed him, even with eye witness testimony by the god damned Vulcan ambassador, Winona had still gotten her husband out of jail and vouched for him with the police.

Jim had long since given up on trying to earn his mother’s love.  Even now though, he couldn’t keep himself from wondering if he could have done more.  Perhaps if he had tried harder…

“Jim.”

He startled as Spock eased himself down next to him on the stairs.  Jim had been so caught up in his thoughts that he hadn’t noticed the Vulcan exit the house, despite the fact that the door creaked no matter how carefully it was opened.

Spock edged closer to him so that their sides were pressed together, and suddenly, Jim ached to just curl into Spock and let himself forget about everything for a while.  He could do that, couldn’t he?  He and Spock were tie-la mates, or whatever.  Mates did shit like that, didn’t they?

Obviously gleaning the thought from Jim’s mind, Spock wrapped one arm around Jim and used a hand to pull his head down onto his shoulder, even as his mind sent out waves of calming thoughts.  Jim held himself stiffly for a moment, not sure what to do, but then he deflated, allowing himself to lean on Spock just as he had imagined doing only seconds earlier.  There was something so peaceful about being wrapped up in Spock.  The Vulcan was warm and solid and comforting, and for the first time in Jim’s life, everything felt perfect.

Of course, it couldn’t last forever, but when Jim lifted his head to look into Spock’s eyes, he was surprisingly still calm.  This was Spock, and Jim loved him.  Though every instinct his life had instilled in him fought it, Jim also trusted Spock.

Then, Spock leaned forward slowly, and Jim froze like a god damned deer in the headlights.  Was Spock going to kiss him?

Fuck, he wasn’t ready for this.  It was too intimate.  It was too soon.  It was too…  What if Spock wanted more than just a kiss?  What if he wanted sex?  This thought just made his thoughts spin even faster as he started to panic.  And then, Jim’s body started showing its approval, seemingly completely on board with the idea, which only served to make his thoughts more muddled than they had been before.

Spock, obviously sensing his confusion, cupped Jim’s face in both hands and kissed him gently on the forehead.  “Jim, I do not wish to do anything that you are not comfortable with,” Spock assured him.  “You are my _t’hy’la_ , and I love you.  Consummating our relationship when it is not in your best interests would hurt me just as much as it would hurt you.”

Jim had to swallow thickly in relief and… disappointment.  He blinked in surprise as he realized that he _wanted_ Spock to kiss him.  Even if he wasn’t ready for anything else right now, he loved Spock, and he trusted him, and he suddenly really wanted to know what kissing him would feel like.

He did it before he could talk himself out of it.

The first kiss was chaste—barely a brush of their lips—but it still sent a spark along their shared mental link.  They both leaned back in simultaneously, unable to resist, and then, they were kissing for real.

Jim was sure it was still pretty tame as far as kisses went—there wasn’t even any tongue involved—but still, he felt heat burning low in his stomach.  After an inestimable length of time, Jim felt other parts of him beginning to stir and gasped, breaking off the kiss if favor of burying his face in Spock’s neck, his entire body tensing as he fought to control its natural reactions.

Spock did not react for several seconds, but then he tightened his hold around Jim and started running his fingers soothingly over his hair.  Jim slowly relaxed into the Vulcan, but his mind was still racing.

A new determination was filling him, even as he waited for the beating of his heart to finally slow.  He knew he didn’t have much to offer Spock right now.  Jim was well aware of the fact that he was a mess.  Frank’s abuse, his mother’s rejection, and the events of Tarsus were still rubbing him too raw for the wounds to be even close to healing.

The rational part of Jim’s mind knew that things wouldn’t be like this forever.  Though it was almost impossible for him to picture being any other way, he couldn’t let go of the hope that someday soon, he would be able to make himself whole again.

 _Yes_ , Jim thought in a moment of clarity.  _That is what I want. **He**_ _is what I want._

Jim would be whole again, and he would have Spock, and they would be happy together.

Silently, he promised this to Spock and sealed it with a kiss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, now I want all of you to tell me what you think. Seriously, just press the little button down there and give it to me straight.
> 
> I am planning on posting the prologue of Stay Strong right now. If you are reading this on July 1, 2013, there may be a bit of a delay. Just know that I do have it done, and I am posting it as you read this. XD
> 
> Edit 10/17/2015: Remember, if you like this story please vote for it at http://www.inkitt.com/stories/35150. Thank you!


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